Nobody Expected My Inquisition
by Mike Stormm
Summary: A collection of short stories starring Inquisitor Ariel Abel of 'Cain & Abel' fame. Latest Update: Faith & Pestilence, wherein our heroes discover the enemy hates fast food. Re-uploaded due to errors with the document uploaded.
1. Opening Words

To whoever finds this,

There is a saying in the Inquisition, 'It does not matter who you are or where you came from. What is important is that you are here in service to the Emperor.' Likewise, it does not matter to me who you are or where you came from. What is important is that you are here and you are reading this. How you came across this I do not know – whether you found it adrift in space, buried in a pile of sand, at the bottom of a box of slates, or sealed away in the deepest pits of the Inquisitional archives. What is important, however, is that you are reading this.

Since it is unlikely you know my name, I am Inquisitor Ariel Abel of the Ordo Malleus, and if you are reading this, then it means that I am gone. I do not know how I will be remembered, if at all, and quite frankly I no longer care. All I have done has been done in His service and given the choice, I will do it again. I am long past the point of making excuses for my actions. Had I not done what I had done, billions of lives would have been lost.

In my lifetime I have been called a great many things – child, brat, student, trouble-maker, friend, Commissar, mentor, saviour, lover, mother, mentor, Inquisitor, radical…renegade…heretic…traitor…

But I have dedicated every second of my life to serving the God Emperor, protecting His realm from some of the most terrible horrors imaginable. But as Inquisitors we do not just serve the Emperor and protect His realm, we also search for the truth. I know that heresy is spread by lies and deceit. That evil reigns through deception, and nightmares are made flesh through the twisted wills of the misguided. I know this with the same absolute certainty that a mother know that her love for her newborn child is without limits.

There are only two things in the galaxy that matter – the Emperor and the Truth. Without them, there is no Imperium; there is no humanity; there is no future.

But what is truth? Throughout your life, you will come across people who will offer you truth. To the Priest, the truth is His Word. To the soldier, the truth is the weapon he holds in his hands and the enemy that stands before him. To the scholar, the truth is what we remember. To the Tech-Priest, the truth is what can be measured. To the Inquisitor, the truth is what remains when the dust finally settles…

I have exhausted every breath I possess in His service. All I have left is the truth…

And so to you do I leave it as my final gift. Read it. Learn from it. Guard it closely.

Because the truth is the most powerful weapon you can wield. It can crumble empires, defeat armies, and bring kings to their knees. And in your darkest hours, only the truth will save you.

However, if you're an idiot like me, then all the truth does is blindfold you, lead you behind the tool shed, and bludgeon you with a rusty pipe.

_-final words of Inquisitor Ariel Abel, Ordo Malleus_


	2. Faith & Pestilence p1

_**Faith & Pestilence**_

_**By Inquisitor Ariel Abel**_

_"True, a rotten, heathen bastard I might be. However, and I hate to be the one to break it to you sister, your Emperor doesn't give a damn whether any of us live or die! You can be the frakking Saint of the Emperor's gratitude and I guarantee I'll still outlive you!"_

_-Balasz Mulder, self-proclaimed 'rotten, heathen bastard'_

As repulsive as the above may initially come off as, Balasz's tactless means of conveying his point have always been effective if a bit abrasive and I often found myself agreeing with that one in particular, especially in my later years. Even I, as any Kriegan or Emperor-fearing citizen, was irked when he barked out those words. As a Commissar, I thought I knew what the threats to the Imperium were or could at least recite them by name. But after prat-falling into the ranks of the Holy Orders of the Emperor's Inquisition, I gradually discovered that the galaxy was an even far more unforgiving and ruthless place to exist in. The Inquisition showed me that there was a whole new realm of dangers that could cause even the most stalwart soldier to loosen their bowels in an instant. But contrary to what I might have implied, it was faith that saw me through many of the dangers I encountered during my service as an Inquisitor. While I never expected an invisible force to come down and smite my enemies, I knew that it was my faith that fuelled my stubbornness. And I have found that so long as the spirit remained unconquered, victory was possible.

I think what Balasz really meant when he spouted his blasphemy was that praying for salvation won't do any good unless you are willing to pick up your sword and save yourself. All too often in my travels I found civilians cowering in their homes, praying to the Emperor for deliverance. At first I sort of pitied them in their defencelessness but over time I found myself getting annoyed by it. There is an old saying that "Hope in neither a sound strategy nor a Principle of War." So no, I don't expect civilians to become instant soldiers but the haste in which people throw up their arms in surrender has often made me wonder how the Imperium has managed to survive for so long.

The answer, of course, was through the hard labour and sacrifice of those with the courage to stand against the darkness - from the Imperial Guard to the Adeptus Astartes to the Holy Orders of the Inquisition. Ironically, Balasz was probably as far from the symbol of courage and valour as one could get without being executed for heresy. But his instincts and resourcefulness when it came to staying alive were top notch. I simply made sure he was always being threatened by the very things that I needed eliminated or threaten to kill him myself. However, after a while he knew that the threat was implicit with all my orders. Having a career criminal on your payroll had its perks – they knew the best routes through the undercities; they had connections that wouldn't run away the moment you approached them; and they were always willing to turn on their former comrades for a little extra jingle in their pockets.

However, there was the downside, as exemplified by my opening remarks, in that they didn't necessarily play nice with others on your own side. In the case I had presented, Balasz was in a heated argument with Sister Devi, a member of the Adepta Sororitas. She, like most non-militant members of the Adepta Sororitas, was quick to turn to prayer when situations grew dire and it had been grating on Balasz's nerves all night.

As to be expected, Sister Devi did not take too kindly to his remarks. "The day that the Emperor's providence allows a cretin like you to outlive a servant of the sisterhood is the day that I renounce my faith!" she snapped back, not taking account to the fact that dead people tend not to renounce anything other than their mortality.

"I've still got ammo, we could make today that day," Balasz replied.

"Would you two just knock it off!" shouted Yarit 'Spike' Heilmit, my long-time aide and companion. He had been leaning against the door and was arguably one of the only things keeping it from busting off its hinges but from his tone I could tell that even that fact wouldn't stop him from marching across the dimly lit room and clubbing the two of them into silence. "Hate to be a drag Inquisitor but unless you've got another brilliant strategy tucked away somewhere that you haven't shown us, we're going to be in a bit of a bind in about two minutes."

It was always a bad sign when Spike's usual upbeat optimism began to run dry. However, only a madman would be able to deny that we were in a very dire situation. "Only a fool lets his faith falter in the hour of darkness for it is when all is pitch black does the candle shine its brightest!" espoused our accompanying madman of a priest. The priest was the only person in our little cabal who wasn't ready to hang up their hat and call it a life but I got the impression he didn't quite fully grasp how bad things were.

"Trooper, what's our status?" I called out to a nearby Kriegan soldier.

"Well…Lemares, Heinrich, Goeritz, Volk and Gustav are all dead. And we're all down to our last power cells. Overall, it leaves much to be desired," he replied. Despite the grim report, his tone remained level but that was to be expected from a Kriegan. Even though he was prepared to face death in service to the Emperor, I was certain that even this situation was not what he had in mind or intended.

"And the rest of you?" I called out to the others.

"Outta shells and my laspistol is dead," Heilmit answered between the echoes of the pounding upon our door.

"Use mine then, there should still be a few shots left in it," I said as I handed him my hotshot laspistol.

Balasz, now sitting quietly in the corner, had his revolver open and was spinning the chamber idly as he replied, "One stinking bullet left. I think I'm going to save that as a last resort if nobody has any objections." And I, having handed out all my guns, was not in a much better situation either. I still had my sword to rely upon and it had been making short work of our adversaries since the trouble began but after a whole day of swinging, fatigue had set in. Adrenaline would see me through the initial foray but I couldn't keep fighting for much longer.

The situation was grim to say the least. We were trapped inside a building and surrounded on all sides by a horde of ravenous horrors ready to strip the flesh from our bones, exhausted from fighting and retreating, running low on ammo, even lower on morale, and we had to spend our last waking moments with a priest who wouldn't shut up about the virtues of Saint Marconius the Pious. I doubted that Saint Marconius was in a situation anywhere remotely close to ours. Perhaps if our enemies had been crazed munchkins we would have had some inspiration from the saint. But even then there was little chance espousing the benevolence of the Emperor's divine would suddenly make converts of our enemies. I found myself barely clinging to the ledge over a yawning pit of despair. For a moment, I wondered what would my legendary mentor, Commissar Cain, have done were he caught in my situation. Strange how even so long after we had served together, I still found myself looking back to him for advice. Many times in my career I found myself wishing he were present but that was rarely the case. Instead, all I had were my own wits and drive to survive – something I frequently worried would be lacking at the worst possible time. Trapped with only a handful of survivors, they all looked to me for answers and leadership and I did not know if I had any left to give.

However, I think I may have gotten a bit too far ahead of myself now. Our spectacularly disastrous outing to the planet of Cocytus began earlier that day at a time when our forecast for the future did not include possibilities of death and dismemberment. How I still yearn for the days of my youth when I could arise in the morning with a sense of hope for a better tomorrow. Lately I would just wake up and hope that I could get through the day without a half-dozen beings trying to end my life, each with unique and horrifically inventive ways in which to do it. Even then there are days where my expectations still seemed to be set far too high. Cynicism, as they say, was the smoke that rose from the ashes of your burnt-out dreams.

* * *

Cocytus was a small Imperial world located in the Pollo sub-sector. There was nothing particularly note-worthy about the planet – it was a partially settled Imperial world, a modest population of about four billion inhabitants, and it enjoyed a year-round temperate environment. It was a touch on the dry and windy side but an otherwise stable ecosystem. I don't believe I could describe it as any more average unless there were literally two-and-a-half children per household. It exported a variety of industrial goods and pharmaceuticals as well as hosting large grox-herding ranges. Perhaps it had some exemplary feature that set it apart from other Imperial planets but if there were any I couldn't find it. Granted, I spent a bulk of my time planet-side fighting for my life so my sightseeing opportunities were limited.

It started out like most days with me laying half-awake in my bed, alone and trying desperately to resist the urge to punch a lasbolt through the optics of my personal servitor, which had been programmed to ensure that I got up in a timely fashion. Nothing said 'wakey-wakey' like a cold, metal mechadendrite snaking across your back, which only occurred when I was stubborn in getting up (and since life as an Inquisitor was just as hectic was life was in the Commissariat, I took every opportunity I could to rest).

"Okay, I'm up! I'm up," I capitulated as I shook the mechadendrite off me and clambered out of bed. If I hadn't known for a fact that the damn thing didn't have an ounce of sentience, I would have suspected it took great pleasure in seeing me scramble out of bed like a cat out of a full bathtub. But the servitor's reaction to my awakening never varied regardless of how quickly or slowly I arose; it merely stared at me with its reflective, lifeless optics, which occasionally clicked and whirred as the lenses focused on my movements through the room.

"Good morning Miss Abel," the servitor spoke in its usual monotonous voice. Having been repurposed from the Ecclesiarch, it lacked the usual hard, metallic tone that most servitors had and instead possessed a slightly lyrical and softer tone. It was still unmistakably unnatural but at least the designers had enough foresight to put a lampshade on it. "The time is currently zero-eight-fifteen ship standard. We have arrived in the Pollo sub-sector and are currently on route to planet Cocytus. We will reach orbit within one standard hour. As per your instructions, the latest reports from the planet's Administratum have been uploaded onto your personal dataslate."

I was aware of most of what the servitor was saying; I had already picked up the aforementioned dataslate and was browsing through the latest reports even before it spoke. Unfortunately, that didn't take very long as there was little content or substance to them. Once again, locally-provided intelligence left me wanting. "Very well, fetch my usual breakfast and a pot of tanna please," I instructed as I headed for the shower.

"As you wish madam," the servitor chimed before pivoting on its motorized wheels and sped off to the mess hall. Despite the annoyances of its wake-up protocols, the perks of having a servitor far outweighed the problems. For starters I didn't have to feel guilty about sending it down to the mess hall at two in the morning for a midnight snack. And for my aide, Spike, it saved him from having to run up and down the ship on the dozens of tasks that came with being an Inquisitor. As he grew older, he came to appreciate the servitor's diligence more and more.

Despite having moved into a career beyond dataslate shuffling, I found a strange comfort in being able to sit down behind a desk and peruse a dataslate's contents. I milled over various reports and messages while I ate my breakfast and even though there were many things from the Commissariat that I missed, the cooking was not one of them. The mess staff aboard my ship, the Spirit of Ferrograd, may not have been master culinary artists but an Inquisitor's budget allowed for better provisions. I was just about finished my morning routine when somebody knocked on my door.

"Come in," I called out.

"Morning boss," said Spike as he waltzed into my quarters. "Ready for another beautiful day in service to the Emperor?"

"Tea first," I quipped and finished off the last of my tanna. It was strange how I still drank the stuff despite not having served alongside a Valhallan for over twenty years. When I first tried the stuff, I was just relieved to have something to drink in order to calm my nerves and the taste left me vowing to avoid it whenever possible. But serving alongside Commissar Cain left me often needing a drink to keep a clear mind and tanna was the only thing he ever seemed to have on hand. In a way, the nostalgia became a strange source of comfort when facing a chaotic galaxy – a source I turned to more frequently after I had cut back on my drinking habits. And likewise, Spike too had come to serve as a kind of emotional anchor for me, along with his plethora of other useful skills he had picked up in our years together. We had been working together for nearly twenty years, which at the time seemed like a long partnership but it was still relatively young when compared to our full tenure together. Despite his experiences, he had never let the cruelties of the galaxy dampen his spirits and he approached life with the Inquisition with the same enthusiasm as he did back in the Death Korps of Krieg. Granted he wasn't as headstrong as he used to be but even after almost a hundred years I still saw the same juvenile trooper that I met one rainy day on the streets of Magnus Viridis.

"Captain's about to put the parking breaks on," Spike reported. "But he says there's something he wants to talk to you about at your earliest convenience."

"Probably wants me to pick up some brandy while I'm out," I groaned as I grabbed my last piece of toast and headed out. Taking a page from Cain's teachings on leadership, I found keeping my crew happy paid off in the long run. Though dangerous, the better I made working on behalf of the Inquisition, the more they'll fight to keep me (and in turn their job perks) alive. Thank the Emperor most workers could be bought off with extra rum rations and the use of Cain's patented brand of discipline. As we headed to the bridge, Spike and I chatted over our usual course of ship business and staffing. Despite having retired from the military as a mere private, Spike had since become the de facto chief of staff for my merry band of Inquisitional servants. With the exception of the ship's crew, who were watched over by their captain, Spike kept a close eye on the people who worked for me – identifying potential problems as well as areas we needed to improve on. Every hired gun I've used had to be vetted by Spike first and he had high standards when it came to people entrusted with my safety.

"While we're on the planet, we really should look into finding at least five or six more guns to fill the void left from last months raid," he said while I munched on my toast. "And I don't need to remind you that we're still short on trained medical staff, psykers, and people are still asking for a new priest to replace O'Malley."

"Cause it's so easy to get good staff these days. It's not exactly an easy job to advertise. 'Come serve in Abel's Inquisitional retinue; maintain faith and morale as we pit ourselves against the most horrid nightmares made manifest. Long hours, meagre pay, no overtime, health, or dental plans, and the retirement plan is getting eaten by a kroot.'" I remarked half-heartedly. Ordering people to work for me was not how I wanted to run my operation. It was suitable when done on a temporary basis but I needed to fill those positions with permanent staff and I only wanted the willing and able.

"We could just send a request to the Ministorum for a priest," Spike suggested, to which I shot him a harsh glare.

"I'd rather make-out with a lictor." It was no mystery to anybody I served with that I was not a huge fan of the Adeptus Ministorum. The fact that I took every opportunity I could to give them the middle figure or deprive them of their ambitions likely earned me a few enemies amongst their ranks (and a few assassination attempts later on). "They've got their heads shoved so far up their asses that they don't even notice all the dangers that are closing in around them. The less I deal with them, the easier my job gets."

"Personal grievances with the Ministorum aside, the crew could really use somebody to help remind them of their faith," Spike argued politely. "And honestly, I think you could too."

"My faith is fine," I insisted, perhaps a bit too strongly. "My beef is with the idiots running the church, not the faith itself."

"Well some people might argue there's no difference. Don't forget they've got allies in the Inquisition too."

"Thanks mom," I said sarcastically as we stepped into a lift. "You worry too much."

"One of us has to."

There was a tense silence in the lift for a while. Spike had likely given up on changing my mind and I was busy finishing what was left of my toast. When I finally did have something to say, it was in response to one of his previous remarks. "What's wrong with my faith?" I inquired with a touch of hostility.

"When was the last time you gave thanks to the Emperor?" he asked plainly.

"I did that yesterday," I insisted.

"Winning at tarot does not count."

I let out a quiet groan and thankfully I did not need to put up with any further questioning from the morality police as our lift arrived at its destination and we stepped onto the bridge of the Ferrograd. I yearned for the days where I could slip in and out of rooms without even being noticed since on the Ferrograd I was the single-most recognized figure on the ship and I couldn't even step onto the bridge without a deckhand shouting 'Inquisitor on deck.' Despite the bellowed announcement of my arrival, few actually made any kind of motion to acknowledge my presence but only because I had long ago told them not to. I wasn't the captain and I'd rather they focus on their duties rather than my presence. The bridge of the Ferrograd was its usual bustle of activity, much to my satisfaction. Despite being on a non-Imperial warship, the crew had adjusted to their settings quite admirably and worked with an efficiency that would make one think they had been serving aboard it their whole lives. The ever-dutiful Captain Engelhart was sitting in his seat that overlooked a large holographic map of the star system. His dark eyes had turned to me the moment he heard the lift door open and he nodded curtly as I approached.

"Morning captain," I said in greeting as I leaned against the hololith table. "What seems to be the trouble?"

"Well we're about to pull into standard orbit madam," replied the Captain as he rose from his seat. The good captain was like most fly-boys turned ship commanders; calm in a crisis, daring in battle, and always thinking in three dimensions while the rest of us were struggling with two. Having a competent captain in charge of the ship took a huge weight off my shoulders since I couldn't tell the difference between a freighter and a floating iron tub, let alone command one. His oversight on the day-to-day operations meant I could focus on my primary duties as Inquisitor, which meant it was one less thing to worry about. He was a reliable and dedicated captain but once put on terra firma or outside the confines of a vessel, however, he had a tendency to become absent minded and he could barely hit anything that wasn't bigger than a starfighter. As such, I excused him from any Inquisitional duties off-ship. Why holovids always had the captain going planetside when he should be sending soldiers has always baffled to me. Verity always insisted that I 'thought too much' when we watched holovids.

"I'm sensing a 'but' coming along," I said as it didn't take a psyker to see where the Captain was going with this.

"But it's just the response from planet's stellar traffic network has been a bit troubling."

"How so? Nothing's happening," I said as I glanced to the holo-map. Normally if something was amiss there would be bright lights and loud beeps to accentuate it.

"That's the problem miss, there hasn't been any response at all," replied Engelhart as he rose from his seat. He directed my attention to the space surrounding the planet and its conspicuous absence of anything resembling a vessel. The only things we could detect in orbit around Cocytus were unmanned satellites. "We haven't had a patrol boat, a communication, or even an unmanned probe sent our way. We're well within their sensor range as there are standard Imperial perimeter sensors here and here. You'd think if somebody saw an unidentified, non-Imperial class warship returning to real space, there would be some kind of reaction. It's not like with your old ship where you could be mistaken for a simple merchant vessel - we are most definitely a warship. The giant lance battery on the prow is sort of a dead giveaway."

The Spirit of Ferrograd, unlike the armed freighter I used to ride around in, was a full-fledged warship operated by members of the Imperial Navy. It wasn't an Imperial vessel by design as I had acquired it after 'liberating' it from its renegade creators. Despite having a much larger budget and near-limitless access to information, I was still responsible for outfitting and supplying my own missions. It wasn't too bad once I got established but I started out, like most young Inquisitors, with the clothes on my back, hitch-hiking rides in the holds of whatever I could find that was going where I needed to be. Most of the equipment in my armory was acquired in a similar fashion. And despite its second-hand nature, it was in excellent condition now thanks to a team of tech-priests who spent hours repairing or re-sanctifying our 'repurposed' equipment. One of my greatest hauls came after busting a renegade sect of the Adeptus Mechanicus. Our tech-priests were quick to find any and all equipment that could be re-sanctified in order to appease the Omnissiah. By the end we had enough new weapons to replace all of our old, shitty lasguns and enough ammunition to supply an entire regiment in the midst of an Ork uprising.

And while liberating an entire warship would normally be useless to a lone Inquisitor, Captain Engelhart and his crew, having lost their cruiser to the renegades who built the Ferrograd, were more than happy to step in and take control. Rumour has it that Engelhart had the famous M18.12 Overture playing on loudspeakers on the bridge when he ordered all guns to bombard the renegades' main base. Suffice to say, it was the start of a wonderful working relationship, though imagine my surprise when I realized that the Captain and I had crossed paths in the past and I had completely failed to notice.

"Anything on the auspex?" I asked.

"Nothing out of the ordinary but as usual it's impossible to get an accurate scan of the cities – too many people packed tightly together in heavy rockrete buildings. Did the Administratum inform you of any disturbances happening on the planet?" Engelhart replied.

"They mentioned some trouble with rioting but nothing out of the ordinary and there was already a Guard regiment dispatched to deal with it. Maybe the Administratum told them we were coming," I postulated since I had exchanged a number of messages with the planet's Administratum office.

"Since when has the Administratum shown that kind of initiative and foresight?" Spike quipped.

"Good point," I sighed. Unfortunately, speculating from orbit wasn't going to yield any answers. "In any case, we should get down to the surface as soon as possible. Spike, go get Mulder up here, I need to speak with him."

As I mentioned before, Balasz Mulder was, by even his own admission, a rotten, heathen bastard. He was also a self-serving, hedonist and a borderline coward. In a firefight, the only thing you could count on him to do was find the most solid piece of cover and wait for the shooting to stop. What he had, however, was a whole transport load of valuable information. Before being…convinced of the virtues of working for the Inquisition, Balasz Mulder ran a massive smuggling operation that spanned across most of the segmentum. He had contacts and colleagues in most remote locations one could imagine and despite being a certifiable arsehole, he was the most widely travelled man in the entire ship. He can be rather antagonizing at times but I always kept him on a short leash and reminded him frequently of it. In the end, his skill set and expertise made his idiosyncrasies bearable…for me at least. Many of the ship's crew couldn't stand him with the exception of Verity but I couldn't understand what she saw in him. Captain Engelhart and I continued surveying the maps while we waited for Spike to return with Mulder. It took about twenty minutes before the man finally showed up – a delay that was likely attributed to Spike having to haul Mulder's arse out of bed (gauging by the five o'clock shadow he sported).

"For frak's sake, can't an old man get some sleep around here?" Mulder groaned as he groggily meandered over to the holographic projector. Despite appearing to be only middle-aged, Balasz was actually nearing his third century. This was, of course, thanks to juvenat treatments he acquired using his ill-gotten fortune. It was also how he managed to afford to frequently wear clothes that cost as much as the holo-projector he leaned against. "Hey, it's Cocytus. We're there already?" he asked rhetorically when he looked up at the holographic map.

I didn't waste any time with small talk, getting straight to the point, "What can you tell me about this place?"

Balasz shrugged indifferently as though my inquiry was barely worth the effort. "Worthless little shitball in a small pocket of stable space. It was useless as a relay point and the only market of any value was drugs and pharmaceuticals, and even then it was just barely profitable," he explained. "Didn't help that the idiot governor was one of those hard-ass puritan types – impossible to bribe, obsessed with cracking down on organized crime, appointed equally hard-ass officials and officers as well. Of course we had long since pulled the plug on any major export operations on the planet but that didn't stop him from seeing gremlins in every shadow. He was popular…stupid, but popular. He never really got rid of what crime was on the planet; he simply forced the criminals underground where it was at least out of sight of all the rich people." It sounded to me like the typical 'out of sight, out of mind' governor. They took a good idea and but only did a mediocre job at it. Unfortunately, mediocrity was just as good as the real thing except nobody noticed until it was too late. Like a bunker built with hollowed-out rockrete, it would look perfectly okay until an Ork knocked it over with a sneeze, at which point you're in shit creek without a paddle, a boat, or even a decent pair of boots.

"How's the law enforcement?" I continued.

"The Adeptus Arbites are mostly present in the upper levels of the city…you know, to keep the nobles feeing safe and secure. Of course all the trouble happens in the undercity and the local fuzz are totalitarians. They're quick to judge, quicker to take action, and prefer talking through their cudgels. If you annoy them, they might not stop and listen long enough for you to invoke your Inquisition status before caving your skull in. But you've probably already seen their patented brand of homicidal enthusiasm when you got the 'twenty questions' by the welcoming committee."

"Actually we haven't heard a word from the surface or anybody in orbit," Engelhart interjected.

It was the first time Balasz expression changed from his all-encompassing apathy, though only to raise an eyebrow in puzzlement. "That's not like them at all," Balasz remarked. "Hm, maybe the old windbag finally kicked off and somebody with some actual sense has taken over." If nothing else, I could always count on Balasz to offer his unique sense of perspective on virtually any subject, whether I asked for it or not. "Well, in that case then it's probably best if we slip in while the guard dogs are distracted. You know how your presence can get some people worked up."

"Don't remind me," I muttered. In my travels, I always found it best to keep my Inquisitional nature a closely guarded secret. People had a tendency to become anxious when they knew an Inquisitor was snooping around. Often times the guilty party would take the initiative if they caught word of an Inquisitor on the planet, at which point they'd usually flee like a scared juvie. In some occasions they'd try to assassinate the Inquisitor, which never accomplished anything other than pissing the Inquisitor off…or on rare occasions it drew attention to guilty parties the Inquisitor wasn't even aware existed (which happened to me on at least four occasions). From personal experience I can attest that few things infuriate an Inquisitor more than trying to blow them up when they've stopped on a planet to simply pick up provisions and take a short rest. "I'll take a small team and go down to the planet in the Aquila lander. We'll try to draw as little attention to ourselves as possible for the time being."

"Not taking the Zweihander this time? Oh, Celeste will be so disappointed," Captain Engelhart sighed.

"You can tell her to have the afternoon off," I said as I gave Spike a pat on the shoulder. "Spike here will be the chauffeur."

"I'm guessing you'll want me to tag along too?" Balasz said unenthusiastically.

"Of course – wouldn't be the same without you," I said teasingly as I motioned for him and Spike to follow along. "We'll call if we need anything Captain. Try not to get sucked into a warp storm while we're gone."

"As long as Necrons don't show up again I think we'll be fine," Engelhart replied, surprisingly light-heartedly on a subject that at the time was a complete 'arms flailing like a seizure' panic inducing. He even laughed about the time Cain and I rescued him from Orks and we almost got killed about a half-dozen times.

Since Balasz looked like he was barely ready to face the mess hall, let alone the unknown, I told him and Spike to take thirty minutes in order to get prepped before meeting in the hangar. It also gave me time to dress more appropriately. One thing I frequently missed from my days in the Commissariat was the simple fact that I could get changed in the dark. The only times I ever needed to wear something different was when the situation called for more formal attire. Other than that it was greatcoat and peaked cap day in and day out. I still had my commissarial garbs for the rare occasions when posing as a Commissar suited my mission but other than that it mostly gathered dust, waiting for moments when I would take it out if only to remember my younger, more carefree days (relatively speaking). As an Inquisitor, I obviously had free-reign with respect to my wardrobe but more often than naught I found myself drawn to the humble greatcoat, if only for the feelings of nostalgic that it brought me. Plus, a greatcoat offered the room necessary to conceal weapons and tools. As well it kept my carapace chest plate from being too visible. Despite being an Inquisitor, I had yet to gain access to better armour but my tech-priests assured me they were working on something befitting a person of my position. Until then I had to settle with my standard operating procedure of not getting shot. After grabbing my coat, my weapon belt, which consisted of two pistols and my sword, and a cup of recaf, I headed out to rendezvous with my colleagues. As I expected, Spike was waiting by the lift for me, wearing his usual Death Korps coat and carapace armour and with his trusty shotgun slung over one shoulder.

"Hopefully Mr. Mulder will not keep us waiting too long," I remarked as I called for the lift.

"If he starts running late just give him a little reminder," Spike replied, referring to the short leash I kept him on. A leash which included a small remote-controlled, shock generator.

When the lift doors opened I was halfway to stepping inside when we both realized somebody was standing in the lift doorway. I didn't notice the person at first since it was one of the only members of the ship that was actually shorter than me. Standing in the doorway, staring up at us with bright grey eyes and flashing her sickeningly sweet grin, was my daughter, Verity. "Can I come?" she immediately asked, having already deduced our purpose from our attire alone.

"Verity, dear…I think you're still a bit too young to accompanying us," I said in an attempt to let her down gently.

"But you promised!" she whined. "You said I could start helping you out on your missions and I was helpful the last time I went with you."

"That was a fluke and you shouldn't have been there to begin with," I replied, quickly losing any attempt at being kind and gentle with my answer. "Plain and simple – you're not ready yet."

"I've been on this ship for over a year now…I can help! I won't get in the way, I promise," Verity continued to argue as though my words or authority had absolutely no meaning to her. I could order around an entire company of Space Marines and yet I still had troubling at times keeping control of my own daughter. "Spike said I was ready!"

At that revelation I immediately cast a sideways glance to my aide, who was already quickly trying to keep any blame from landing on his lap. "It was target practice," he insisted, hands raised into a defensive posture. "I was just trying to be nice."

I let out a slight groan as I tried to figure out a new plan. Despite the fact that I could easily push her aside, Verity seemed intent on barring my path until I acquiesced. Verity did speak the truth in the end but I was still uneasy about the idea of letting her join in on official Inquisition business. I turned to Spike, as he was the only other person on the ship who had spent as much time with Verity as me but wasn't biased by obvious maternal instincts. "Do you think she's ready?" I asked. Verity's eyes lit up at the sound of possible victory.

While Spike didn't immediately say yes or no, he did give a slight shrug of uncertainty. "Well, she has gotten better with a pistol. She can hit the targets consistently now at a decent range. And she has been doing well in her studies. This mission probably won't be too difficult so I don't see why not. She was right about the ship thing – she has been cooped up here for a long time. It might be good for her to start seeing the world again. Plus, if things get too hairy we can just call for a pick-up or leave her in the lander." It was hard to argue with Spike on the subject since he had been doing a better job of keeping watch of her studies and training than I had. So with a defeated sigh, I finally nodded in agreement, to which Verity cheered in delight and hugged us both.

"But you're not getting a gun," I said sternly.

"Fine…" Verity murmured. I had to put my foot down somewhere before I lost any semblance of authority in front of the others, not that Verity didn't have a knack for doing that already. Raising a child was definitely not an easy task, even when considering all the assistance from Spike and that Verity was a very special child (and not the 'needed to monitored around paperclips' kind of special). Unfortunately, having Verity along gave me yet another thing to worry about. As an Inquisitor, people were supposed to be thought of as tools or comrades – becoming emotionally attached to one's retinue could be problematic. However, I was fed the same 'wisdom' when I became a commissar and I became quite attached to some of the soldiers I served with. I think my years with Corporal Watz taught me how to connect with people without compromising my integrity. But Verity was different. Could I separate the mother from the Inquisitor? I did not know and that thought haunted me continually. "So what are we doing?" she asked as we shuffled back into the lift.

"An unknown space-faring object crashed into the planet's surface a while back. The team sent to investigate the impact crater were never heard from again, nor were any subsequent teams sent to investigate the disappearances. Now an entire encampment has gone off the grid. Unrelated rioting has got the arbites, local law, militia, and guard regiments tied up…so I figured I'd take a look into things personally."

"Interesting," Verity said with a quick nod. Like me, she had an insatiable curiosity. She was drawn to the unknown just because it is there. It was fortunate that she was associated with one of the few professions that curiosity was rewarded with something other than an early grave. "Any leads?"

Alas, I shook my head. "We're pretty much going in blind. We'll take a look at the impact sight, the encampment, and the surrounding areas to see if we can find anything that might point us in the right direction. It could be nothing like a crashed raider ship and its surviving crew are just picking off isolated targets or it could be something worse; it could have been a lictor spore, which means we'll be up to our necks in nids by the end of the month." Every Inquisitor had stories of mission they had undertaken to investigate psychic phenomenon or unexplained disappearances or possible xeno sights or heretical cults only to find it's a bunch of juvies with too much imagination and free time on their hands. Not every investigation led to planet-wide conspiracies or ancient prophecies or heretical cults trying to resurrect long-dead masters. For every Inquisitor that frolicked around the galaxy like some holo-vid action hero, there were a hundred other Inquisitors that poured over archival data, monitored suspects as they went about their daily routine, or asked a laundry list of questions to an interrogation detainee. But even if ninety-five percent of your cases turned out to be duds, you had to approach each investigation with the same degree of consideration and methodical examination. All it took was one careless oversight and a planet could wind up engulfed in a Chaos uprising.

As anticipated, we were forced to wait in the hangar bay for several minutes for the last of us, Balasz, to finally catch up. When he arrived he was dolled up as usual, wearing a tailored suit with a fedora to match, his hair neatly combed back, and his face now cleanly shaven. He struck a handsome figure but that was simply another part of his criminal routine as the charismatic businessman. "Oh good, we get to have a family outing," Balasz said sarcastically when he noticed Verity accompanying us. "Should I grab my pict-caster and pack some lunches before we go?"

"Get in the lander," I said straight-faced.

"Of course, your majesty," he replied.

"Come on Bally," Verity said as she tugged on Balasz's arm. For whatever reason, he seemed to let her get away with using a diminutive petname. Perhaps it was because he wasn't entirely a bastard and had a soft spot for children…or it was because he was a bastard and was just buttering her up in order to get something from her later. Considering he was a shameless womanizer and would have tried something once she was older but I knew that wouldn't be the case. We both were crystal clear in the understanding that I would drop him in a heartbeat.

"Remind me again why I'm getting dragged along on this mess?" Balasz muttered.

"Because you always leave contacts on any planet you've had business with in order to keep an eye on things," I answered smugly. "And you just so happen to have a contact in the city nearest to the encampment that we're landing at. I figure if something underhanded is afoot, you'll be the first to hear about it."

"Well I see somebody's been going through my little black book again," he replied, referring to his contact directory listing, which literally had thousands upon thousands of names and locations. Part of what made Balasz so difficult to track and apprehend for the Inquisition had been the sheer enormity of his information network. He had contacts on planets who were the grandchildren of his original informants he had, centuries ago, left behind. His network, at its peak, dwarfed that of most Inquisitors. He often relied on low-level scribes, city workers, local law enforcement, shipyard workers, and even vagrants. He kept people on his payroll that were in positions to see everything that happened and yet remained almost completely invisible – overlooked by the higher echelons of society. It is a tactic that I utilized in my years as an Inquisitor with excellent results.

"It's like a directory for scumbags. I'm not sure where I would be without it," I said in mocking praise of Balasz's contributions to the team. Though it could be a useful asset to other Inquisitors, his little black book was a closely guarded resource of mine. If the wrong Inquisitor got his hands on the book, it would turn from an information network into a hit list. Balasz might have loathed the life of servitude I forced upon him but if any other Inquisitor had caught him, he would've been dead or worse. I gave him an ultimatum – surrender all assets and work for me, or be handed over for Inquisitional processing. As Cain would describe it, he chose probable death over certain death.

"This is going to be a damn waste of time…" he muttered bitterly under his breath.

* * *

I wish I could better describe the atmosphere on Cocytus when our Aquila lander touched down but after having visited hundreds of different worlds, they sort of blur together. Some worlds are more memorable than others but Cocytus was a planet I would soon rather forget. When we stepped out of the lander, the landscape was relatively bleak and barren, prompting Balasz to comment, "Well, this place was a shithole when I left it. And as you can all see, nothing has changed."

The encampment we were to investigate was located amongst the rocky foothills a fair distance outside the city of Ne'ere. I remember it being very rocky as Spike had to circle above for several minutes before finding a clearing large enough to set down in. It was a sunny afternoon, dusty, and quite windy, which stuck to my member because Verity had been wearing my old crimson sash around her face to help keep the dust out.

"Come on, the encampment is a couple of clicks that way," I instructed as our group got moving.

"For the love…I'm getting frakking dust everywhere!" Balasz complained as he brushed some dust from his collar for the third time since stepping off the lander. Amongst his other qualities, Balasz was a world class complainer.

Spike went on point, staying several meters ahead of us as we trekked through the rocky wastelands. Our journey would have gone faster had Verity not stopped to examine every little lizard and 'funny-looking plant' we came across. While I usually tried not to stymie her curiosity, there were times when it did slow things down. "Verity, put that back, you're not keeping it," I said when I noticed she was carrying some sort of desert reptile in her hand. She was disappointed like any child would be but obediently set it back down on a rock. Thankfully, though, her curiosity meant there was no shortage of enthusiasm once we spotted our destination in the distance. Verity likely would have raced over to it had Spike not stopped her from getting past him.

"Easy there little missy, we don't know what's over there," he warned her as he pushed her behind him. "Could be bad guys for all we know."

"If there we bad guys, they wouldn't have stayed put in an area that is defensibly exposed. Given the lack of water or agricultural equipment seen on our fly-over, it is highly improbable that this encampment is self-sufficient. So if we were dealing with people they would have moved to a more populated area for more targets or to a more remote location for better concealment," Verity promptly answered. She always was the logical one of our lot. And she did have a strong point – there was little in terms of defensible walls or even watchtowers. And since the surrounding hills gave any attackers ample cover to make an approach, no experienced fighter in their right mind would have set up shop there. However, this was assuming the guilty party had intelligent people in it.

"Still, Spike's right," Balasz said. "Why…there could be snakes in there or something."

"Don't joke about that," Spike quickly snapped back.

"I'm just saying it's possible," Balasz continued, "after all, we are in a bit of a desert and snakes do live in desert-like environments. I'm sure Verity would agree with me."

"We are in an environment that appears suitable for snake-like creatures to inhabit," Verity said as though answering was undesired but also unavoidable. In a way, she did always have a compulsion to respond to any question she knew the answer to.

"Please don't help him Verity."

"I'm sorry," she whimpered.

In any retinue, there were bound to be moments of friction and it was always up to the Inquisitor to smooth out the wrinkles. "That's enough you guys," I quickly interjected. "Balasz – shut up. Spike – man up. And sweetie, you did nothing wrong so you don't need to be sorry." And in an instant, Balasz fell silent, Spike continued to lead the way, and Verity smiled back to me. At times, fixing a problem was as simple as saying the right few words. Now if only more of my problems could have been solved that way, I would have been able to avoid a lot of grief in my life.

The encampment itself appeared undamaged at a casual glance. It had the usual assortment of pre-fab, snap-together hab shelters and work units arranged in a circular pattern around a large, central portable work lab. The set-up was standard issue for most Imperial expeditions; easy to produce, easier to assemble, and could almost entirely on the back of a couple of flatbed trucks or a single transport ship. Back when I was a commissar such units were highly sought after by regiments as they made excellent command centers that could be moved about with ease. I ordered the team to split, save for Verity who I told to remain close to me. Spike went to explore the surrounding area and Balasz began searching through the hab units. Meanwhile, Verity and I went inside the main work lab.

"What have we got here," I muttered as we stepped inside. The large, open-space room was filled with workbenches, scanners, computer lecterns, and various mechanical equipment. The center had a large examining table with small bits of rock and metal scattered across it. Judging by the broken ceiling-mounted equipment, scattered hand tools, the scorch markings on the wall, and the red stains on the floor we were looking at the epicentre of something disastrous. "Verity, take a scan."

"On it," she agreed. Her grey eyes began to glow a dull blue as her augmetics began analyzing the scene before her. Did I forget to mention that Verity served as my main data analyst? Indeed, beneath the sweet, childish visage was enough augmetics to make a tech-priest bust a bolt. She stared at the central table for a while before sweeping her gaze out to the rest of the room. "I am detecting a large amount of non-native particulates on the table as well as across the room. They do not appear to be naturally occurring either," she reported after a brief scan. She walked up to the central table and took a closer at it, which meant she was taking an even more thorough scan of what was before her. "A composition of various metallic particulates and organic matter. It is difficult to identify individual components due to the level of erosion and decay."

"It did crash from outer space," I replied.

"Negative. While some fragments do contain heavy heavy thermal scarring, these samples are also heavily decayed from oxidization and exposure."

"Okay, so it's old metal that's crashed from space," I concluded. "It was probably a ship then. Any chance of identifying what kind of ship it could've been."

"Can you identify a mountain from a pebble?" she asked rhetorically, displaying the Abel family's keen sense of sarcasm. "Whatever crashed was extremely old and extremely decayed. If it was a ship, it would likely have been adrift with this level of structural decay."

"What can you tell me of the organic material? I'm assuming most of this stuff is blood."

"Correct and much of it is old – several days at the very least. However, on the table there are also high levels of organic material consisting of several dozen enzymes, decayed lymphocytes, leukocytes, proteins, collagens, erythrocytes, and plasma."

"Which makes it?"

"Pus…bile…various body fluids. Something dead and decaying was on this table."

"Human?"

"I cannot say for certain. There is too much contamination from the blood to isolate a DNA sample." Her eyes faded back to grey and she let out a defeated sigh. "I'm sorry but there is nothing more I can determine from this."

I could see that she was a little disappointed in her inability to come to a definitive answer so I quickly gave her a reassuring pat on the back. "You did good dear," I told her, which succeeded in lifting her spirits. I took look at the scene again in hopes I could piece something together from what I could see and what Verity had told me. "Okay…so something artificial definitely crashed on the planet. Whatever inside it was dead but…something else wasn't. So what attacked the people here? And where did the bodies go?" While I stood and pondered, Verity went back to scanning the room, albeit the old-fashioned way as she looked through cabinets and drawers looking for clues. I was beginning to think I might have had Tyranids to deal with – possibly a small brood nest that was aboard a freighter. It wasn't uncommon for Tyranids to lay dormant in old husks drifting through space until it crashed onto a planet, awakening its passengers. But the scene looked too clean for Tyranids; there should have been huge blood splatters and maybe some leftover bits and pieces of the expedition team. Even Tyranids did not pick a place completely clean.

That was when I heard a shriek coming from Verity's direction. I whisked my head towards the source and saw Verity on her backside with a body slumped across the floor a few feet in front of her. It had fallen out of the storage closet that she had just opened and judging by the complete lack of motion, it was very, very dead. I could not make out any features at first because the body was dressed head-to-toe in a plastic environmental suit – the kind typical used to clean contaminated areas during epidemics. The workers must have been worried about bio-hazards from whatever they brought in.

"Are you okay?" I asked as I helped Verity back to her feet.

"It just…startled me that's all," she explained. I had long since gotten used to dead bodies falling out of strange places but this was only Verity's second time off the ship as a member of a mission so she wasn't yet desensitized. I let my daughter collect her thoughts while I examined the body. After flipping it over, I saw no visible signs of injuries or damage to the environmental suit. In fact, its controlled airflow had hindered any decay so the corpse was well preserved. The expression on the man's face was pained and exhausted.

"Can your scanner determine a cause of death?" I asked.

"Negative," she answered after a brief scan. "The suit's integrity is intact. We would need to perform a more in-depth autopsy to determine how he died. However, I would postulate that he likely died of dehydration if he were inside the closet." I glanced up for a moment and saw Verity was examining the closet the body had fallen out of. "The door does not appear to be able to open from the inside. I think he became trapped in there."

"Forced in there or hid in there?" I asked.

"There does not appear to be any sign that he attempted to escape."

That, unfortunately, was not a good sign. A man trapped in a closet would normally try to claw or kick or punch his way out; unless, of course, something far worse on the other side of the door. "So something scared him so bad that he decided dying in a closet was a better alternative," I said aloud as I finished my examination of the body. There was no bruising on his knuckles or damage to his fingertips, which further supported our original assessment. I did, however, notice an empty pistol holster on his leg.

But before I could say anything, Verity spoke up. "I have a question," she said as she set her gaze onto the rest of the room. "If these were recovery workers…you know, tech-priests, diggers, machinists, and whatnot, why are there lasgun markings on the walls and ceiling?"

"That's a good question Verity. Who goes to work in a lab packing weapons?" It was entirely possible that the people here knew what they were working with was dangerous but continued on anyways. It wasn't unheard of, especially considering how isolated we were. And with the troubles related to the rioting, it was possible that the workers took their security into their own hands. Nothing in the camp's layout suggested they were expecting an external threat so why were there guns in the lab? "I don't like this at all," I said with a sigh.

After taking another look around the lab, Balasz's voice buzzed into my comm-bead. "Hey fearless leader, there's something here you should probably see," he reported. He relayed his coordinates and I headed over there with Verity. Balasz directed me to one of the hab-units; its door was already wide open so I strolled on in.

As we entered, I pointed out the condition of the doors to Verity. They were covered in dents, the painted insignias scratched off (other doors had intact markings and insignias), and they had stress fractures along their hinges. What was bizarre, though, was that these were all on the inside of the door and not the outside. "Well that's not the least bit foreboding," I remarked as we headed inside. The interior had a basic layout – a main hallway connecting several quarters and bathrooms, and ending in a common room at the far end. At brief glance, though, most of the furniture had been moved out of the rooms save for the beds and some small tables. It did not appear as though the building had been used as living quarters but I was not sure what it had been used until I reached the common room where Balasz had been waiting for me. A number of cots had been arranged in the room, or had once been as the room now looked as though a pack of drunken Ogryns had stormed through it, and discarded packages bore medical tags. Balasz stood amidst the mess in one of the few blood-free spots, staring at a dataslate. "Find anything?"

"No liquor, smokes, or cash but I did find the medic's log," he answered. "It goes back a few months but nothing out of the ordinary until a few weeks ago. Most of this shit is in doctor-ese but looks like there were a lot of workers suddenly falling ill in a very short time span. Reports are pretty short…probably too overworked to keep a detailed account." He handed over the dataslate for me to peruse but it didn't take long for me to realize that I wasn't going to get much useful information out of it. The reports on the separate cases were very short: names, symptoms, vitals, treatments, possible diagnoses, and times of death. There were random blurbs that were mostly speculative but it didn't take the medic long to notice all the patients had identical symptoms. The last entry noted a quarantine but it did not say much more as the report stopped mid-sentence.

"Looks like he got interrupted," I commented as I noticed a sizable dent on the corner of the dataslate. It appeared as though the dataslate had been dropped.

"Looks like whatever they picked out of that crater wasn't very good for their health," Balasz replied. "Should I be like…getting a mask or something?" A valid concern but I got the impression that it wasn't going to make much difference at this point. There were no bodies and whatever caused this seemed to have vanished long ago. Nonetheless, I had Verity check the air for any signs of contamination or pathogens. She said she didn't detect anything out of the ordinary but she warned us that her auspex wasn't designed for that level of precision so it was possible that she simply wasn't capable of detecting anything in the air. We sifted around for more clues but we only found similar signs of struggle as we had back in the lab.

"Not a single body though," I sighed.

"Well, the houseplant's dead. Does that count?" Balasz said sarcastically.

"I'll be sure to begin an autopsy immediately," I replied, meeting his sarcasm with my own.

After about an hour of fruitless searching, we met up with a parched and dust-covered Spike in the center of camp. I brought him up to date on our findings inside the camp before he reported his findings on the area around the camp. "Impact crater looked fairly normal…well, as normal as an impact crater can be," Spike explained at first. "Workers did a thorough job extracting all the fragments of whatever crashed…save for this." He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a chunk of metal – it was dark, jagged, and encrusted with rust and corrosion. He handed the metal chunk over to Verity, who quickly started to examine the piece.

"It's composition appears similar to the particulates found in the lab. I am able to identify significant levels of ceramite, plasteel, adamantium, silica, copper, and various iron alloys," Verity said moments later. "Hmm…I'm also detecting engravings beneath the corrosion as well as corroded circuitry on the inner surface."

"But does that tell us anything new?" Spike asked, trying not to sound harsh despite his demand.

"It tells us there was a mechanical component to what they recovered; something that required a degree of sophisticated technology to function," she explained.

"Any hope of being a bit more specific?" I inquired.

Unfortunately, this time Verity had a shrug for an answer. "Indeterminate. It could be from a number of things – a servitor, heavy machinery, a sentinel…something very hi-tech to say the least."

"Well that narrows it down a little bit at least," I muttered while I contemplated possible implications.

"I also found some disturbed graves," Spike informed us. "They were shallow…recently dug. And for some reasons the bodies had been removed."

"Better watch out then, the dead are rising," Balasz said mockingly and sounding a bit frustrated at the overall situation. "We're wasting our time here Abel. Textbook case of shoot n' loot: the recovery crew found something valuable, some thugs demanded it to be handed over, thugs shoot a few workers to show they're serious, workers get serious and fight them off, security gets beefed up, and then the thugs return with extra firepower and shoot everything up. The prize is taken along with anything of value. You don't need to be a damn Inquisitor to see that nothing special happened here. Call the local fuzz and get them to deal with it."

Though I took Balasz's words with some consideration, Spike did not appreciate the disrespectful tone that he had spoken with. Spike was among the many voices that protested my decision to bring Balasz onto the team and he, like most others, took whatever opportunity they could to take a shot at the man. "If these were thugs, why would all the bodies be gone? Why would the teams sent to investigate go missing?" Spike asked with a hint of hostility.

"Are you that ignorant? It's because there's always a decent black market for body parts," Balasz replied defensively. "You have any idea how much script I could make selling your dead arse to a morally-scrupulous tech-priest? It's cheaper to build servitors using recycled parts. As for the teams sent later…you sit tight, prepare an ambush, and wait for the investigators to show up. Then, boom, more swag and scraps."

"What makes you so certain of this?"

"Because that's how I used to handle it," he said without even a hint of remorse or hesitation. It was as if he was discussing his morning routine. "Bodies leave trails, ransom is risky, and prisoners take up resources. It's safer and more profitable to sell the bodies for scrap. It was standard operating procedure with my people. Why do you think nobody ever found any bodies with me?"

"You sick son of a-!"

The situation had quickly deteriorated but I was able to put myself between the two before fists started swinging. "That's enough! Calm down Spike," I shouted as I pushed Spike away just as he was about to lunge for Balasz. It was extremely tempting to have allowed Spike to act on his disgust as Balasz's words left an equally unpleasant taste in my mouth as well. I could only ever guess at the degree of depravity that went through his mind. I never once doubted that if I had known the full extent of his crimes, I would have shot him the first time we met. Unfortunately, he was a man of many secrets and he was very, very good at keeping them. I could never figure out how I managed to get so much out of it in our time together since threats of torture usually didn't bother him. Perhaps a part of him enjoyed the work but I had trouble picturing anybody that could enjoy running for their lives from Necrons.

It took a few moments but eventually Spike settled down though he was still visibly angry. "This man has committed a thousand atrocities against the Emperor and Imperium. He should be burnt at the stake and have his charred remains paraded through town as an example, not given Inquisitional clearance."

"Right…because I so enjoy my life as an Inquisitional lapdog like you," Balasz snapped back. "Or maybe it has something to do with the bomb she had planted in my frakking brain!" The brain-implanted bomb was part of that short leash I had mentioned earlier and while an effective means of control, it was not the only tool I had to maintain discipline with my often-unruly subordinate.

"Service to the Inquisition is one of the highest honours a citizen can be bestowed," Spike retorted. Personally, my years in service to the Inquisition before becoming one felt like anything but an honour. However, my overall impression of those years was likely skewed thanks to the blinding pain and sheer trouser-staining horror that I endured in the process. Plus Spike was die-hard Kriegan loyalist so even taking a shit in the Emperor's name would have been seen as a great honour. I should have held a similar opinion but in hindsight, perhaps I was not as good of a Kriegan as I had thought myself to be.

"I don't give a shit about your arse-backwards, childish notion of honour and-"

"Okay, everybody shut up right now!" I loudly interrupted once more. "Next person to open their yap will lose their teeth. Got it?"

"Can I still talk?" Verity peeped up cautiously.

"Yes, you may still talk Verity. These two, however, aren't allowed to say anything unless it's important." Unfortunately, my decision didn't ease tensions very much since all it did was force the pair to resort to non-verbal gestures to express their enmity with each other. I didn't care so long as I didn't have to continue listening to them. It never ceased to amaze me how juvenile some men could remain. At least it gave me some silence so I could think over our options. "While Mr. Mulder may be correct in his assessment, we're not leaving until I've confirmed it. More importantly, I want to account for what was stolen."

"Perhaps Mr. Mulder's contact will be able to direct us to black market traders. It is unlikely the amount of…human salvage Mr. Mulder suggested would go unnoticed," Verity suggested. "However, if what was stolen was indeed salvage, then it may prove exceedingly difficult to trace without confirmation of what it had originally been."

"I've got a hunch unfortunately," I murmured a bit reluctantly. Inquisitors rarely had the luxury of blissful ignorance and when it came to bad feelings, the worse it was, the more likely I was right about it. "Pop quiz people, what's old, putrid, covered in adamantium and ceramite, and was recently driven off in this sector?"

Spike was the first to clue in although it took a few seconds for him to remember the broadcast report that he had originally brought to my attention. He let out a frustrated groan and buried his face into the palm of his hand. "Oh for the Emperor's sake, don't tell me we have to deal with one of those."

"I seriously hope I'm wrong on this," I agreed. "I hate plague marines."

* * *

"But what would anybody want with the remains of a plague marine? What you described sounds absolutely revolting," Verity commented after I had given her a lengthy discussion as to what plague marines were exactly. To my fellow Inquisitors who have never encountered one, be grateful for they are as difficult as they are malodorous. Their putrefied aura made Jurgen (aide to Commissar Cain and arguably the filthiest soldier in the Imperial Guard) seem like a pleasant spring breeze. Their bloated frames devoured bullets and laser fire as though they were caba nuts, making it difficult to put down one, let alone a whole line of them. I prayed to the Emperor that if it were a plague marine that crashed down on the planet's surface, that it was well and truly dead. There wasn't enough fire power between the four of us to even put a dent in the thing, let alone stop it for good.

"Study maybe…or just to strip the armour for salvage," I replied, trying to keep a level head despite how insane it was for me to be tracking down a Chaos marine. I sat in the back of the Aquila lander with Verity, trying desperately to think of alternatives that could explain all the evidence. However, the closer our vessel got to the city, the more the notion of a plague marine seemed to fit. If I had a plague marine carcass sitting on my laboratory table, I would have had a gun at my side at all times as well. Normal Astartes were capable of surviving severe injuries in a comatose state – I imagined a marine touched by the Dark God of Decay would be even more resilient to incapacitation. Despite the Ultramarines succeeding in pushing out a warband of Death Guard marines from the sector a few months back, it was possible for some to have persisted in the sector. It could even have been adrift in space since the last battle and only awoken now that it was on a habitable planet. If that were the case, then it needed to be stopped before it attracted more attention to the planet. I tried to remain optimistic but it wasn't a luxury I could afford – I had to be prepared for the worst-case scenario, or at least as prepared as one could get when the worst-case scenario was 'full-blown Chaos uprising.'

"You two are worrying too much," Balasz commented from the far side of the lander. He was lighting up a lho stick as was his common practice when he's stressed. Despite his complacent attitude, I could tell that he was concerned about the prospect of Chaos marines as the rest of us were. He hated fighting in general but he tolerated it when he knew he could backstab his way to victory. You couldn't backstab a plague marine with a ten-foot lance coated in burning holy oil.

The flight back to the nearby city of Ne'ere was relatively brief but it was an uneasy flight. The more I had to explain to Verity what we could be dealing with, the more uneasy I felt. Obviously I could not let it show, as Inquisitors are supposed to be fearless, exceptional human beings, but fear was something even an Inquisitor had to deal with. Perhaps I would have felt less fear if I had earth-shaking psychic powers, a suit of master-crafted Terminator armour, and a blessed daemonhammer at my disposal. The best I had was a phase sword, which would have done me little good if I caught a bolter round before I got within range of a plague marine (assuming the stench didn't put me down first). I was probably the most nervous person on the vessel since if I proved to be correct, I would be the one expected to confront the monstrosity. I fully expected Balasz to run and hide if a plague marine showed up and while Spike would be more than willing to confront an agent of Chaos, he was woefully unequipped to do so. And Verity…well, I couldn't expect her to do much if any kind of trouble started. Despite her usefulness, I was regretting my decision to bring her along now that the scope of the potential danger was known. But with that regret came further conflict because I also knew that she had already proven an invaluable addition to the team. As an Inquisitor I should seek whatever options best served the Emperor but as her mother I didn't want to put her anywhere where there might be gunfire. Despite everything that told me otherwise, Verity was important to me. I always worried that my job would one day force me to make a decision between her and the greater good…and more importantly, I worried that I would choose her. I worried that I would put the life of one person above the Emperor and if I did that, how I would be able to look at myself as a Kriegan or an Inquisitor any more? It was tempting to order Spike to take the lander back to the Ferrograd just so I could unload Verity and pick up more firepower but time was of the essence and I did not want to be stuck alone with Balasz.

"We've reached the city Miss Abel," came Spike's voice from the cockpit. "Lots of smoke coming from the city. I think the rioting might have gotten worse."

"Then land us someplace secluded. I don't want our ride getting hijacked by some looters," I instructed.

Like most Imperial cities, Ne'ere was built layer upon layer upon layer, each one more decrepit than the one above. Since the vast majority of criminals lived in the lowest levels, Spike had to take the lander into the undercity, where 'secluded' could only be considered in a relative sense. The safest bet was to find the highest point in the undercity, which in our case was a landing pad for a public transit hub. Good thing being an Inquisitor meant I could park inside the Governor's bedroom and he'd have to accept it. Stepping outside the lander, the change in air quality hit me like the Emperor's mailed fist. No longer was there was warm, dry, and breezy air but a cloud of humidity, pollution, and stagnant air. I was somewhat grateful for having one artificial lung so each breath only left a burning sensation in one half of my chest. Spike and Balasz had no qualms with the air quality, having been long used to breathing in unfriendly fumes but poor Verity had a coughing fit when she stepped out of the lander.

"You think we should, you know…leave her with the lander?" Spike suggested.

I thought about it for a moment and while it was tempting, I was disinclined to leave a child alone with a lander in the heart of an undercity. For the time being, she was safer someplace I could see her. A service elevator took us to ground level, where the streets were crowded with filth, beggars, criminals, and degenerates. It was a cesspool of human life and a place of so much wasted potential…or at least it should have been.

"Where is everybody?" Verity commented as we stepped out into the city streets.

"Maybe there's a curfew," I postulated as I looked to the distance. The sun was setting in the horizon and it would be nightfall soon. It wasn't uncommon for curfews to be maintained during times of crisis but if there was a curfew, where were the people enforcing it? A planet could not be that orderly that a curfew call was respected whole-heartedly by the populace – there wouldn't be any rioting if there was that much respect for law and order. As one would expect, the lack of crowded city streets made me uneasy. "Let's hurry along. I don't want to be in this city longer than I have to."

"We could always just go back to the ship," Balasz remarked, prompting me to shove him to the front of the group.

"Just take us to your contact," I ordered impatiently. Thankfully, it was not a long trek – we cut through a few alleys, walked a few blocks, and eventually came to a stop outside a seemingly innocuous steel door upon a featureless rockrete wall. At first I wondered how Balasz knew this was the right location as there appeared to be no identifying marks of any kind. However, out of curiosity I adjusted the spectral sensitivity on my bionic eye and I noticed that the door had been tagged with a radioisotope and the door was giving off a very faint energy signature. It was clever – distinct enough to pinpoint when you knew what to look for but would become lost in the background during a broad sensor sweep.

"Wait here, seeing all you guys at once might spook him," Balasz advised before knocking on the door. Normally, I insist that somebody accompanied Balasz at all times, especially when off the ship, but when it came to dealing with his contacts, I gave him a bit more freedom. His service to the Inquisition was a tightly guarded secret, which was necessary in order to keep his information network from collapsing. It always brought a smile to my face when I thought of the thousands of informants and spies who worked for the Inquisition but were completely oblivious to the fact. "Come on, open up you old fart," Balasz muttered as he pounded on the door again. There was no answer. "Fine, I'll just let myself in then." Even though there was absolutely nobody else on the street aside from us, Balasz briefly looked to his surroundings before kneeling down and pulling out a lockpick kit. In less than ten seconds, he had the door unlocked and was heading inside.

"This doesn't make a lick of sense," I muttered while we waited outside. "This place should be crawling with people."

"The rioting could be forcing people underground," Spike suggested, although it was in a tone that suggested he didn't quite believe that reason either. "Let's just hope this doesn't take long. I don't want to be stuck out here after dark."

"Hey look, there's somebody over there," Verity suddenly spoke up, tugging on my sleeve and pointing off to something in the distance.

"Finally, some human contact," I said with relief. I doubt I would get much information but at least I could find out why the streets seemed to be as deserted as the cantina during 'chef's surprise' night. I told the others to wait while I headed over to speak with the civilian. I was surprised that I hadn't spotted him sooner but he was standing part-way in a darkened alley so he was only just barely visible. "Excuse me, sir," I called out but, strangely enough, got no response. "Um, I said excuse me, sir!" I repeated, more loudly that time. I heard a muffled groan coming from the man but no audible words or even a sign of acknowledgement. He just continued leaning up against the wall. Now I was no stranger to be being ignored (it was practically my life's story) but it wasn't as if he could have confused me as speaking to somebody else – we were the only people in the area! "Great, I think he's drunk," I groaned as I stepped closer. If he had been drinking, I couldn't smell the liquor through an overpowering aura of body odour, which briefly made me think that Cain and Jurgen were suddenly going to pop up. "Hey, arsehole!" I said loudly as I stood beside the man and waved my hand in front of his face. He did appear to be ill but that wasn't uncommon for people in the undercity – what I could see of his face was pale and sickly, his features sunken and shallow as though malnourished, and a blank gaze in his eye. Finally I got a reaction but not the reaction I had expected. Granted, I don't think anybody expects to be suddenly bitten by a random bloke on the street. "Wh-Hey!" I yelped as his teeth clamped down on my hand. Civilian or not, reflexes kicked in and I quickly punched the man in the head. As I pulled free, the man swung towards me with outstretched arms. Instinctively, I grabbed his leading arm and used his momentum to slam him face first into the wall behind me then wrenched his arm behind his back.

"Is everything okay?" Spike called out from down the road.

"I'm fine," I shouted back. "Listen you arsehole, I'm really not in the mood to put up with any kind of groxshit so you better start profusely apologizing or I'm breaking both your kneecaps." While being an Inquisitor was obviously a hazardous profession, one rarely expected the average Imperial citizen to try and bite you. I've had a few kroots and genestealers attempt as such but never a human. Okay, there was that one time with the cannibals but they didn't try to do it through a leather glove.

"Uh, mother?" Verity interjected and happened to be standing just a few feet away from me.

"Not now sweetie, the grown-ups are having a disagreement," I replied before putting a bit more weight into the man's back as he struggled to try and free himself.

"But he's…uh, not alive…"

"Come again?" In the haste of beating off the man who bit me, I did not get a very good look at him. Taking a glance at his face I saw that he barely had one – in fact, it appeared as though half his face had been chewed off. His face should have been leaking like a keg during happy hour but there was barely any. "What in the warp?" I muttered. I didn't have much time to contemplate what was before me because a gunshot suddenly rang out from the building that was Balasz had entered.

And that was when everything started to go downhill.


	3. Faith & Pestilence p2

_**Faith & Pestilence**_

_**Part Two**_

"_It's only retreating if you do it in front of your commander."_

_-Cpl. Fredriks Watz_

Bearing witness to the bizarre is not just common occurrence in the Inquisition; it becomes a part of your daily life. While seeing an ancient tome suddenly spawn teeth and attempt to devour your hand might throw ordinary citizens into a panicked frenzy, Inquisitors have to go and wrestle with the tome in order to extract the knowledge contained within. Very rarely do the incarnations of insanity wait for their victims to pick their jaw off the floor before starting the massacre. As such, Inquisitors have to understand that there is a time for investigating and asking questions, and there is a time for shooting everything that looks inhuman. While I have always stressed that it is important to ask questions, there are moments when answers place a very poor second place to blowing the head off of the miscreant that is trying to chew off your face.

"What the hell is Mulder up to now," I muttered as I quickly reached for my hotshot laspistol. I trusted Verity's assessment that I would not be committing murder because having only half a face wasn't conclusive evidence of vitality (given some of the wounds and scars I've seen in my travels), so I stuck my laspistol into the creature's spine and fired a shot through it. Instead of a scream there was only a hollowed thump as the spinal column was shattered in twine. The creature hit the ground like a wet rag, lying motionless for a moment before its upper body inexplicably started writhing and trying to drag itself towards me. "No living human should have been able to shrug that off," I remarked as I took a few steps back. While persistent, it wasn't going to catch me dragging its dead arse across the asphalt.

"Cool! It really is a zombie," Verity said with a bizarre sense of awe as she leaned in slightly to get a closer look. She probably would have gone right up to it and poked it a few times had I not put my arm in front of her.

Before I could say anything, Balasz emerged from the nearby building, a somewhat startled expression on his face and a pistol in his hand. At least I could safely guess who did the shooting a moment earlier. "Would somebody care to tell me when exactly did we step out of reality and into a frakking holo-vid? My contact just tried to bite me and it's missing half his skull and was dragging his intestines across the floor!"

"I take it the reunion went badly?" Spike commented with remarkable indifference.

"Well you know what they say about an armed society being a polite one," Balasz answered once he rejoined the rest of us. "Would somebody care to explain to me why none of you seem concerned that a man who should be dead just tried to have me over as dinner?" Rather than answer the question verbally, we all simply pointed to the zombie a few feet from me that was still trying to crawl its way to us. "Why am I always the last to know?" he said with a sigh. "So now what? Please tell me it's 'back to the ship.'"

"While I'm normally not one to agree with anything Mulder says," Spike began, "I would actually suggest getting back to the _Ferrograd_ as soon as possible. It can't be a coincidence that a plague marine and zombies have shown up at roughly the same time. They have to be linked, which means we're seriously under-equipped to tackle on hordes of the undead."

"What makes you so certain there are hordes of them?" I replied.

"It would explain the absence of any civilians," Verity interjected with her patented brand of 'pointing out the logical facts.' "If the common media depiction of zombies holds any truth, then we are likely dealing with a viral outbreak of some kind, which would spread exponentially in a densely populated ubran center. We could very well be dealing with an entire city of undead creatures."

Normally, holo-vids were the last place I would draw information from but given that I had no experience in dealing with reanimated corpses, it was as good a place to start as any. "Have you been watching the scary vids again?" I asked.

"Spike said I could!" she quickly blurted in her defence.

Once again I glared harshly at my aide, who should have realized long ago that Verity was not the type to hold onto secrets, especially when it came to keeping her arse out of the fire. "Oh come on!" Spike replied. "It's not like anything in the library is even close to as scary as the shit she'll eventually encounter, given your line of work."

"When we get back to the ship, you and I are going to have a serious discussion about our shared responsibilities," I said sternly. However, debates about parenting were going to have to wait since we had a situation on our hands and I didn't want to jump to conclusions too quickly. If what Verity said was true, then it was possible that any sort of viral outbreak could still only be just starting, which meant we could potentially put a stop to it before it consumed the entire city. It was wishful thinking but running away at the first sign of trouble wasn't the standard protocol for Inquisitors. Of course, 'standard protocol' didn't exist for Inquisitors as every single Inquisitor had their own way of doing things. I am certain there are those that would have declared Exterminatus by that point and be done with it. Exterminatus was something that I tried to avoid as much as humanly possible. And while some Inquisitors might have had no qualms with it, I can still vividly recall the first instance in which I had to declare a planet beyond salvation. I had ordered thirty billion people to be put to the torch all because of the actions of a single sycophantic bastard. I relapsed back into the bottle after that day.

"Uh…Abel," Spike said as he motioned towards my feet. I looked down and noticed that the paraplegic zombie had its mitts around my boot.

"Hm? Oh right," I acknowledged and promptly blew its rotting brains out. "Okay, now let's get back to the lander. There's no way I can assess the situation properly from the bottom of the city."

"Mom…" Verity said warily as she tugged on my coat. "We might have a problem."

'Might' was putting it mildly; neck-deep in it was a more accurate assessment. The gunfire must have alerted them to our location because out of every alley, doorway, and sewer grating, there were masses of shuffling, rotted, and bloated corpses now pouring into the streets. As Balasz said, it was as though we had stepped out of reality and into a low-budget horror vid – night had fallen and the shadows were now vomiting out legions of undead horrors. However, I had seen enough cheap holo-vids during my youth to know better than to stare slack-jawed at the seemingly endless masses. Instead, I quickly drew my blade and began firing shots into the masses. While stubborn to die, zombies were at least courteous enough to make themselves easy targets.

"We can't stay out here," Spike said as though I needed him to point out the painfully obvious. Fighting zombies required the same strategies as fighting any other numerically superior force – limit their avenues of approach, funnel your enemy into a kill zone where their numbers are a disadvantage and remember the painter's rule. When creating a defensive position; if there is only one way in then there is only one way out, never paint yourself into a corner. Within a minute, the streets were almost packed with undead, to the point where there were more of them than we had ammunition.

Even Balasz, who would normally have taken cover by now, had his pistol out and was firing into the masses. "I vote for going back inside," he said.

With no visible alternative, I had to agree with Balasz that retreating into the building was our best option. "Spike, Balasz; clear a path!" I ordered. The two turned about and began advancing towards the building, blasting holes in any zombie that got too close. Verity followed close behind them while I kept the hungry horde at bay. I edged backwards slowly, replacing their faces with charred craters. But for every face I erased, another ugly mug moved in to replace it. When my laspistol fell silent, I holstered it and decided to rely upon my sword. Decaying flesh offered little resistance, especially to a fractal-edge blade. There was no need for finesse or grace as I just swung wildly at the masses before me, taking off heads and hands by the dozens.

"Come on Abel!" Spike shouted from the doorway. It was only a few meters away and yet it seemed like it was on the other side of the block. I disengaged from the horde, parting with their company with a swift, low sweep of my blade. Contrary to the anti-zombie mantra of 'aim for the head only,' taking out the legs was just as effective when you simply needed to get away from them. About five or six fell from the initial sweep, followed by another half-dozen of the zombies behind them tripping over the bodies, which in turn created a sort of domino effect. Eventually, the masses behind the first few rows just started climbing over the fallen ones but by that point we were scrambling into the building and slamming the door behind us. Thankfully, Balasz's contact was a paranoid old man and had a thick, metal door complete with deadbolts straight into the rockrete walls.

"Right…so how do they usually get out of these messes in the holo-vids?" Balasz asked, looking to Spike and Verity for answers.

"Ummm…they usually involve fortifying in secured locations until a rescue could be summoned," Verity answered, reflecting on the movies she'd seen (even though she wasn't supposed to). "Unless we're already in a secured location, then it's about a power struggle between diametrically opposite figures that inadvertently leads to a break in the defence and everyone is killed except for the main heroes who flee to safety…usually in the last vehicle. And I eventually have to shoot my mother, who's was bitten and has suddenly turned into a zombie." Given how much she recited so quickly, even with her superb memory, was a little disconcerting. I wondered how many holo-vids had she watched when she was supposed to be studying?

"Didn't you get bitten by that first one Abel?" Spike asked.

"Metal hand so there won't be any 'she's not your mother anymore' moments," I answered, holding up my left hand to accentuate the point. "And no power struggles – we stick together or we all die. That goes double for you Balasz."

"What? Are you going to shoot me twice if I run?" Balasz remarked. "On second though, don't answer that."

"In all seriousness, I recommend we make our way to higher ground. The upper levels of the city may still be free of this zombie plague," Verity said. It wasn't the easiest of plans since most cities were designed to keep the levels isolated from each other (lest the disease-ridden plebeians made their way up). There were only going to be a limited number of access points and if I were facing a zombie outbreak, I would have those access points either heavily guarded or blocked-off completely. Still, it was better than trying to hack our way through a thousand zombies in order to get back to the lander. We all agreed that up was the best strategy, though Balasz kept remarked that we weren't going up far enough for his preference.

"Now we just need a way out of here," I said as I looked to our surroundings. The interior wasn't that impressive – sparsely decorated with the minimal essentials in terms of furniture. Given that we were in one of the poorest areas of the city, I wasn't going to complain. We made our way to the upstairs loft in the building but that only took us three stories up. And there was a surprise waiting for us on the top floor. "I thought you already shot this guy," I remarked when I noticed the upstairs room was occupied by an undead freak that fit Balasz earlier description of their contact. No sooner had I spoke did it start shuffling towards us, which meant we had enough time for tea and scones before we had to worry about being in any danger.

"I didn't exactly aim, I just shot and ran," Balasz explained. His choice of weaponry didn't help matters either as he stuck to stub pistols and revolvers, which didn't pack much punch compared to a laspistol. I could never understand why he insisted on using them but that was his preference, especially considering how often he smuggled high-grade weaponry. Perhaps in his former profession, he never had to worry about people wearing body armour or it could simply have been a matter of comfort and familiarity. My former mentor and colleague, Commissar Cain, preferred the standard-issued laspistol despite frequently having the opportunity to upgrade to more powerful sidearms. Likewise, I, too, continued to use the same hotshot laspistol that I began my military career with.

"Well finish what you started," I insisted since I did not wish to promote sloppy work in my Inquisition. He sighed but agreed as he took careful aim with his pistol. For some reason I put a hand over Verity's eyes just as Balasz fired, putting a round straight between the zombie's eyes. I suppose it was wishful thinking that I could somehow protect Verity from the horrors she'd see by simple virtue of being my daughter. I would have preferred to have sent her someplace safe such as a Schola Progenum in some core system. But personal feelings aside, she was ideal for the Inquisition and if I didn't keep her as part of my retinue, I feared another Inquisitor would. As dangerous as her life was or could be, it was arguably the safest path for her short of hiding her on some backwater planet where no Inquisitor would find her. Some days I felt like the worst mother in the galaxy.

While Balasz and I had been chatting, Spike had gone over to a nearby window and was searching for a means to escape the building safely. "Holy frak," he commented as he stared out the window. "That is the largest mass of ugly I've seen in a long time."

"That building looks promising," I said as I pointed the building across and down the road from us. It extended straight up and met with the metal and rockrete platform that served as the physical divider between city levels. It likely served as a load-bearing column for the upper levels of the city but that also meant it had maintenance access to the upper level.

Spike nodded in agreement but I could tell from the look on his face that he was concerned about the crowd gathering outside. It was like a congregation of religious fanatics, all of them gathered in one place over a shared, insatiable need – mindless and devoid of individuality. The chief difference was I could tell the horde in front of me had rotten brains. "What I wouldn't give for a few firebombs right about now," Spike remarked. He stared to the building across the way, noticing a window at roughly the same level as our own, if only slightly lower. "Think I can make that jump?"

"You're insane," I answered, which he seemed to take as a yes.

"Hold this for me please," he said as he handed me his shotgun and climbed out onto the window ledge. "On the bright side, if I fall, I'll have lots of zombies to break my fall." I was tempted to avert my eyes as Spike readied to leap across the alleyway but I had to make sure he made it across or if I'd need to jump out after him to try and save his stupid arse. Verity had her eyes covered but I imagine she had calculated the odds of success in her head and didn't like the statistical outcome. "Okay Emperor…I don't ask for much but if you could just see me through this, I'll be really, really grateful," he said quietly as he mentally braced for the jump. And then, before second thoughts could ferment, he flung himself from the window ledge. If he had a running jump, he would have made it easily. However, from a standing position, he only just caught hold of the ledge, slamming into it at about mid-chest level with an audible 'oof.' "I…knew I should have gone with the rocket boots upgrade…" he groaned as he slowly pulled himself up and into the room.

"This is all well and good Spike but how are we supposed to get across," I called out. Balasz, give the right motivation, could probably clear the gap but Verity and I lacked the strength and reach to attempt such a feat.

"Working on it," he replied and disappeared from view. Not surprising, Spike hadn't thought his plan through entirely but what he lacked in foresight he made up for in resourcefulness. He eventually returned with a length of rubber tubing in his hand. "Best I could find," he said and threw one end of the tubing to me. I was a little wary entrusting my life to a length of rubber tubing but it had enough length and seemed strong enough to support a person's weight. Given a lack of alternatives, I fastened the end of the tubing to some of the piping that ran across the ceiling.

"Okay, who's first?" I propositioned.

"I'll go," Balasz volunteered. He probably figured that the safest trip across would be the first one, when the tubing has been stressed the least by our hanging weight, in which case he stood the best chance of getting across safely. I, however, figured that Balasz would be a good first test given that he was the heaviest of the three of us – if he made it across then Verity and I shouldn't have any issue following. His selfishness suited my needs fine so I didn't protest and simply motioned for him to get moving. He bickered and cursed as he shimmied across the narrow tubing, which sagged several feet as he made his way across. Thankfully, he made it across without incident so I immediately sent Verity across. She made it across without incident, though I could tell she got more nervous as the tubing sagged.

"Please don't break," I murmured as I took hold of the tube, crossed my legs over it, and began shimmying across. I glanced down to the street below me, which teemed with undead that were thankfully oblivious to my presence. However, just as I was about halfway across, there was a sudden snapping sound as the tubing suddenly gave. I probably should have foreseen that coming since bad luck stalked me like an overly obnoxious ex-boyfriend – finding me no matter how many times I changed addresses. The end fastened at Spike's location was still secure so I swung down on the end of the tubing and slammed into the building wall. Thankfully, when I hit the wall I managed to keep my grip on the tubing, mostly due to the fact that I hit the wall with my left side so my artificial arm and shoulder took most of the force. However, I now hung over the street dangling from a length of rubber tubing. And, of course, I had to look down, where I noticed I was easily within arm's reach of the hungry horde. Somehow, they still failed to notice my presence despite having slammed into a wall seconds earlier. I dared not even breathe out of fear that they would cast a glance skywards and see a tasty Inquisitor morsel on a string. And as if things couldn't get any worse, my hands began to slip down the tubing.

"Abel," Spike called out in a hushed voice. He could see from the window how serious my predicament was but with the rubber continuing to stretch, he could do nothing but watch.

At this point I was left with two unappealing options: my first option was to attempt to climb up the tubing, which would only further stress the line until it eventually snapped and I plummeted into the meanest mosh pit on the planet. Option two was to jump headlong into the abyss and hoped that sheer ferocity caused death to blink long enough so I could kick it in the family jewels. As Commissar Cain would say, probable death was infinitely preferably to certain death. With that in mind, I drew out my blade and shouted back, "Get the door!" before releasing the line. I fell onto the first zombie, cleaving it half as I hit the ground. Driven by panic and determination, I began to swing my blade wildly about me, cleaving through the undead monsters as though they were fields of wheat. I knew I couldn't stay in one spot for long so I kept pushing forward, using the crumpling pieces of my enemies as a sort of meat shield against the zombies ahead of me. When grasping hands tried to drag me down, I severed them from their owners and pressed forward. As I reached the doorway, Spike swung it open while using an old coat rack to keep the zombies from flooding in. Somehow in all the chaos and frantic swinging, I managed to reach the door and squeezed in under Spike's arms. Once I was inside, he drew his laspistol and started firing in the door crashers until he was finally able to slam the door shut.

"Holy…frak…" I gasped between breaths. The moment I had reached refuge, my knees gave out and I simply embraced the floor like a drunken sod. "No more…crazy ideas…from you Spike…"

"Come on Abel, we're not out of this mess yet," Spike said as he hoisted me back to my feet. He had a point and despite my weariness, we headed upstairs where Balasz and Verity were waiting.

"You're okay!" Verity exclaimed as she raced over and hugged me tightly. Since it was only the four of us, I was able to give her a light hug back without compromising my integrity (because apparently real Inquisitors don't hug).

"You didn't get bitten while you were out there?" Balasz asked, exercising his usual degree of caution.

"I'm fine," I insisted. Granted, in all the adrenaline I could have been bitten without noticing but I was wearing a heavy coat with full-length sleeves – it would have taken a considerable amount of effort to tear through the thick fabric. Since I saw no tears in my clothing and no wounds on my exposed skin, I felt confident that I had escaped without injury.

"Are you certain? We should make sure. Take off all your clothes." He smirked. I frowned and then smacked him. "Well, now that we've gone through so much effort just to get across the damn street, what's our next move?"

I was still too winded to plot our next move but Spike and Verity were already contemplating ideas. "The zombies didn't appear until nightfall. It is possible that they are photosensitive or photophobic," Verity postulated, observant as always. "We could wait until daybreak and travel then."

Unfortunately, Spike was quick to point out a crippling flaw in that plan. "Problem - we've got about thirty gazillion tonnes rockrete and steel above us. The only daylight this area will get is when the star is on the horizon." In other words, we would be waiting almost another day just to get maybe an hour or two of travel time. During that time, the situation could deteriorate significantly not to mention the rest of my crew on board the _Ferrograd_ would start asking questions. Given our current situation, waiting things out was not a viable plan and all of us quickly realized this fact. "We need to keep moving Inquisitor," Spike continued as he headed back to the window. "There's a small ledge out here we can use to move to the neighboring buildings. We can probably take it all the way to our destination."

"How about we head towards the ship rather than away from it?" Balasz commented.

"Because our ship is sitting atop a building that's got nothing but twenty yards of open space surrounding it. If you want to try and run that zombie-filled gauntlet, you're more than welcome to try," Spike quickly retaliated. As a civilian criminal, Balasz paid more attention to people, threats, and escape routes, rather than the tactical overlay of an area. It was in his nature to keep an eye out for himself and that meant keeping an eye on what could threaten him and where he could run. Considering an area's layout as a battlefield was something you only picked up from years in the military (or an equally violent profession). Generally speaking, buildings with landing pads had to be kept high and away from other buildings, which also made them easy to defend but a pain to fight your way to. Spike and I had both already concluded that returning to the ship was a near-impossible goal. Spike led the way once again, climbing out the window and flattening against the side of the building.

"I hope you know what you're doing," I remarked as I followed him onto the ledge.

"I'm sorta making things up as I go along, like we always do," he replied jokingly.

"I hate improvising," I murmured.

Thankfully, despite Spike's improvisational skills, the plan went off without incident…most of it at least. We were able to slowly make our way from building to building using the small ledge that ran along the outer wall. When we reached out destination, Spike knocked in the window and we all climbed in. Actually, to be more accurate Spike didn't really knock the window in, rather he leaned against and was about to knock it in when his weight dislodged the poor-maintained window frame and he fell in with it. As I had suspected, the building served as maintenance access and we were able to utilize a lift to take us up the next level. We had no idea what to expect on the upper levels but we were hoping for something less crowded.

The first obstacle we hit was the large blast door that greeted us once we stepped off the lift. Spike attempted to activate the control lectern but no rites of activation seemed to work. Balasz attempted his 'rite of shoving his boot up its arse' but that didn't help make the control lectern any more cooperative either. Spike then pulled out his knife and pried the faceplate off the lectern and took a look inside. "Somebody's disabled this lectern," he reported after a brief examination. "If this was recent, then it means somebody could still be alive up on this level of the city."

"Can you fix it?" I asked. While signs of other people surviving were what I had hoped for, it didn't do us any good if it kept us locked out.

"Not without replacement parts or a tech-priest," he said with a sigh.

"Well now what the frak are we supposed to do?" complained Balasz.

"You could try knocking," Spike replied.

Balasz rolled his eyes and shouted back while slamming his fist against the door, "Brilliant idea - because somebody is going to hear us through eight inches of solid plasteel!"

Suddenly, a loud clang noise emanated from the door, followed by the sound of churning gears as the door slowly lifted into the ceiling. Our sense of elation quickly diminished, however, when we saw what was waiting to greet us on the other side of the door – namely a wall of guns. I wish I could say they were just being cautious, which was partly true, but there was also the element of the patented brand of homicidal enthusiasm that Balasz had warned us about.

I didn't even get a word out before the leading man, with shotgun in hand, began shouting at us. "On your knees! Hands in the air!" he shouted as he stepped forward and practically shoved the barrel of his weapon into my face. While I could understand a sense of concern, being treated as a criminal was a quickly path to getting on my bad side. The other men began to swarm around us, weapons at the ready, and when we didn't immediately comply with their orders, they began shoving us to the ground. Judging by their gear and uniforms, they were the totalitarian local arbites that we had been warned about. To no surprise, Balasz and Spike were very vocal in protest of this treatment and the chamber soon became a shouting match.

"Now wait a second," I shouted as the collective volume made it almost impossible to hear anything. Unfortunately, Balasz's previous warnings proved correct as the guy in front of me didn't even let me finish my sentence before striking me with the butt of his gun.

"I said on the ground bitch!" he shouted again, pushing me down while I was still reeling from the blow. Needless to say, Spike didn't react well to the sight of me getting decked by an over-zealous arbite. He immediately lunged for my assailant and managed to get in one face-crushing blow before being subdued by several other arbites. "Assaulting an officer is a serious officer there buster," the arbite growled as he wiped the blood from his face.

However, with everybody focused on Spike, I drew my laspistol and seized the arbite from behind. "So is assaulting an Inquisitor," I said while pressing the gun to his temple. Whoever I was holding hostage must have been of some importance because we weren't both immediately blasted by the other soldiers (as I had witnessed by other planet's local law enforcement). I still had every weapon trained on me faster than you could say 'stand-off.' They, of course, started shouting at me to drop the weapon, which made it impossible for me to tell them to do the same. It was only when a voice louder than all of ours did silence and reason finally got restored.

"What in the name of the Emperor's gold-plated cod-piece is going on here?" shouted the voice. Standing beyond the arbites was a new figure dressed markedly different from the arbites. It was only when he stepped into the lighting of the chamber that we noticed he was dressed in the uniform of a Kriegan soldier and also bore the stripes of a sergeant-major. "One of you Chaos-humping frakheads better start explaining this to me or I swear to the Immortal Emperor that the end of the frakking world is going to be the least of your worries!"

"Th-these civilians just-" the arbite I held hostage began but was promptly cut off by the sergeant-major's fury.

"What was that? Did some Slaneeshi cultist slut come along and frak out your eyeballs?" the sergeant-major continued as he marched up to us. "Civvies don't carry hotshot laspistols you inbred little shit! Or were you too busy jerking your boomstick to notice?" I was quickly beginning to like the sergeant-major. Within seconds all the arbites had their weapons lowered and I felt safe enough to release my hostage. He stared at me for a moment, the dark lenses of his gasmask obscuring his scrutinizing gaze. "What's your name missy?"

"Ariel Abel. _Inquisitor_ Ariel Abel to be precise."

"Inquisitor?" he said with a hint of surprise. I quickly flashed him the Inquisitional sigil stashed in my coat since I doubt he would've believed me otherwise. "Well holy groxshit, why didn't you say so sooner?"

"He kind of interrupted me," I explained.

"Oh," he replied. He then took out a bolt pistol and promptly shot the offending arbite, to which absolutely nobody flinched. "That's for interrupting the lady."

"Was that really necessary?" I asked. Granted it was slightly satisfying to watch but if the threat had reached the upper levels then I would have preferred to have every gun I could, arsehole or not.

"These PDF-reject arbites have no goddamn clue which end they're supposed to think with," the sergeant-major replied as he holstered his weapon. When his head suddenly snapped to all the arbites, they flinched as though his gaze would set them ablaze. "I've seen Ogryns with more sense that you lot! Now get the frak back to the shrine before I tear off your frakking balls and offer them to the Emperor as penance!" It took some effort for me to contain a giggle when I watched the arbites run off like a pack of scared juvies. Whoever the man was, he had a lot of pull with the arbites but given his complete lack of hesitation in shooting one of them, I took him as a man who liked incompetence about as much as he liked an Ork taking a shit in his morning recaf. "My apologies for the rude welcoming Inquisitor, when I was told one of the lifts was coming up, I figured one of them wouldn't be too pants-on-head retarded to handle it properly. Once again my faith in humanity has been severely misplaced."

"Well thankfully you came along. I would have hated to have had to shoot them all," I replied with a relieved smile. "Who are you exactly?"

"Sergeant-Major Gustav of the Kriegan 172nd Mechanized Infantry…or at least what's left of it," he answered with a crisp salute. "I assume the rest of these are under your command?" I confirmed his assumption and introduced him to the others. Gustav was surprisingly polite and curt with them but lingered when I had introduced him to Spike. "That's a Kriegan coat," he commented. "You're Death Korp?"

"Retired, yes. Heilmit brood," he answered, referring to the clone stock he originated from.

"Groxshit, Kriegans don't retire."

"When the Inquisition calls, you don't turn them down," Spike answered steadfastly.

"Well…I guess we can let that slide," Gustav said begrudgingly. "Listen, we better get back to the shrine too. We can't stay out here for much longer." Gustav motioned for us to follow along and he led us outside. The lift door led us out into a large open courtyard complete with trees and shrubbery and along the perimeter was a waist-high rockrete wall with iron fencing extending several feet up. In the center of the open courtyard sat a towering shrine to the God Emperor – a massive stone dome surrounded by pillars topped with statues of the Emperor and various saints. It wasn't uncommon for soldiers to fortify shrines during war because in most crowded Imperial cities they were the only locations where you'd have a lot of open ground and high walls. There were, of course, also those who fortified the positions out of religious devotion and the notion that defending a shrine incurred some kind of added protection. Those soldiers had clearly never seen how long a shrine lasted against an artillery barrage.

"What's the situation here exactly? Who's in command?" I asked.

"I am," Gustav answered as we continued towards the shrine. "As for what happened…well, shit I'm not even sure where to begin. The rioting had everybody's attention – the arbites, the local law, the PDF…everybody. When we started getting undercity people coming up here, we thought the rioting down below had gotten worse. Then we started getting weird reports about monsters and cannibalism but it was impossible to confirm any details given how panicked some of the civvies were. By the time we realized what was going on, the whole damn undercity had already been consumed by this…whatever the frak this is."

"It's possible we could be dealing with some sort of plague brought about by an agent of Chaos who landed on this planet not too long ago," I informed the sergeant-major. Most people were prone to flinching or startled reactions when the very mentioning of Chaos occurred but Gustav didn't even do a double-take. He simply nodded as though it was something he had been suspecting as well. Perhaps he had, given his experience, or perhaps he was just good at hiding what he was really thinking. "You don't seem surprised," I commented.

"We have a priest who's been rambling on about a plague upon the unfaithful," Gustav explained as we stopped just outside the shrine's main doors. "He said something about the agent of the Emperor's wraith descending from the stars and it had come to this world to cleanse it of the unfaithful and to raise the dead in order for them to be judged by Him. He said his warnings fell upon deaf ears. Frankly I just pegged it up to a bit of post-trauma psychosis since he came from the undercity…"

"Or he might know something," I said. It shouldn't have been common knowledge that something had crash-landed far away from the city so how would he know this plague was a result of the 'agent of the Emperor's wraith?' Granted, even a broken clock is right twice a day so he could have just been lucky in his insanity. Either way I asked to be taken to him.

Inside, soldiers and other armed men were resting in the relative safety of the shrine; some were eating, some were asleep, and others stood watch in the higher windows. Judging by the limited gear, however, it appeared that they had not been in the shrine for very long. Gustav went on to explain that what was left of his platoon, which was a dozen soldiers at this point, had been cut off from the rest of their regiment by the plague. When their position fell, they decided to fall back to their command's last known position. Their first day was the bloodiest and they lost most of the platoon, including its officers, within hours. Since then, they've leaned to travel only during the day and bunker down during the nights. Over the days, they picked up survivors from arbites and PDF units that had also become isolated across the city. I counted close to thirty armed men inside the shrine and most of them turned their heads upon our arrival. While the Kriegans looked par for the course, most of the locals looked as gloomy as one would expect. "We've been holding up here for a while. There's a lorry out back but it's not quite functioning so we've been trying to get life back into it. If we can't get it fixed by morning, we're just going to have to abandon it and continue on foot."

"Is it safe to work on it during the night?" I asked.

"At night those things seem to be attracted to noise or light. As long as we maintain discipline on both, we should be fine."

"Okay then," I nodded before turning to Spike. "Go see if you can give them a hand."

"On it boss," Spike acknowledged. The sergeant-major waved over a soldier and Spike was shown the way to the lorry.

"So what else do you know about these zombies?" I asked since Gustav had more experience on the matter.

"One of the PDF shits said it was just like from the holovids – they're slow, they're stupid, and nothing short of a headshot will put a stop to them. Infection doesn't seem to be airborne but if you're bitten, scratched, or even just get their juices on an open wound you'll eventually turn into one of them. We've also noticed that even people who recently died by other causes eventually began to arise. Individually they haven't been a problem but it seems like the moment one or two of them spot you, every frakking zombie in the area knows where you are. And in minutes you'll be up your eyebrows with those things."

"It is entirely possible that they possess some sort of non-verbal means of communication," Verity peeped up. "They could utilize a high-frequency noise, or odours, or pheromones, or the contagion could even grant some kind of psychic network. They do seem to be otherwise pretty oblivious at times." Personally, I would have liked to know how the creatures thought; if they had any brain activity at all. Understanding an enemy was a crucial element in defeating them. Back in the Imperial Guard, there was a lack of proper education on the nature of our enemies and most soldiers learned about xenos the hard way. Anybody who's ever read the Imperial Infantryman's Uplifting Primer can attest to the quality of information being supplied to our soldiers in the field. I had seen more reliable information spewed from the mouth of a heretic who was so strung out on drugs that he thought the tin can he was speaking into was a vox amplifier. Knowledge was power and with so few of us, I would have liked to have had something to help balance the odds. If there had been a psyker amongst our groups I would have liked to have seen if there was a way to disrupt or manipulate the zombie hordes since a zombie shouldn't have much in terms of psychic defence. When dealing with the forces of Chaos, a psyker was a crucial element of an Inquisitional team, hence why most Inquisitors in the Ordo Malleus were also psykers (at least, all the famous ones were). I didn't have a psyker in my team at the time but I did have the next best thing.

"If we do get the lorry operational, where are you planning to head next?" I asked.

"We're trying to get over to the next sector of the city. If it hasn't been overrun then we should be able to link up with command there…otherwise we just keep moving further into the city until we find somebody," Gustav explained. It didn't leave a lot of room for hope but I suppose I would have done the same in his position. A more prideful officer might have insisted on holding position until relieved but the chances of any help coming were marginal at best. "Was there somewhere you needed to be?"

"Any place that has long-range communication capabilities," I explained. "Once I get in contact with my ship, I can bring down more hardware and we can track down the source of this outbreak and put a stop to it before it goes global."

"You really think it'll spread that fast?" he asked a bit sceptically. For that answer, I turned to my little computing wizard.

"Given the requirement for contact in order to spread the contagion, this outbreak spreads exponentially when in a confined urban center," Verity answered eagerly. Though her answer was simplified, she probably had the actual numbers to back those statements up. If she had a piece of chalk she probably would have started drawing graphs on the walls to help convey her message. "Conversely, it decreases at a similar rate when the average distance between people grows. Even a one kilometre distance between population bodies stalls the outbreak by hours, or even days depending on any level of higher-cognitive coordination." Thank the Emperor the planet had only four billion people. However, even though it was small compared to most worlds, when you're stuck on the ground, four billion was still a lot of enemies to deal with.

"Uh…right," Gustav replied. That whooshing sound I could hear was probably Verity's explanation going right over his head.

"However, if the primary source of the outbreak is highly mobile and can spread it through other means, then it could potentially spread across the planet in a few weeks," Verity added. "At which point, I estimate we would be outnumbered approximately one-point-one million to one." It was a grim prognosis, especially since there wasn't even enough ammunition on the planet to fight that kind of odds. The _Ferrograd_, however, not only had the ability to launch bombardments from orbit but possessed an array of heavy weapons to deploy on the field. Now I had no intention of fighting a war to win the planet back if the entire population had turned but I could potentially stop it from spreading beyond the city.

Unfortunately, some people had other things in mind. "Wait, did she just say she had a ship in orbit?" said a nearby arbite who had overheard the conversation. "That means you can get us out of here!"

Now while Gustav and I had been trying our best to keep the conversation quiet as to avoid giving people false hope, the arbite did anything but. The mention of a ship in orbit caught the attention of almost everybody in the shrine, mostly those of the locals. The Kriegans were content to fight and die for the Emperor as always. Everybody started asking me questions all at once and I couldn't make heads or arse of what was being said. Gustav tried to shout them down but even his fury was no match for the prospect of a ticket off the planet. Finally, I blew an ear-splitting whistle and that seemed to settle the crowd down. "Yes, I do have a ship waiting in orbit and yes there is more than enough room for everybody here. But in case you missed it, I am a member of His Majesty's Holy Inquisition, which means I am not about to flee from the enemies of the Imperium so long as there is still a chance to save this planet. Now I know some of you are scared…but that is how this outbreak defeats its enemies. You give into fear and you give this world over to the enemy. There is no greater weapon against the darkness than the courage in your heart and your faith in Him." Having a background in the Commissariat came in useful when one needed to inspire some faith and hope into the petrified masses. Panic and fear could spread as fast as any disease but often all it took was one person showing strength and leadership to completely dispel it. Too bad I wasn't exactly certain if I had the strength or leadership they needed. "Now everybody get back to your posts or rest up…when daybreak hits we can make for the nearest starport. Umm…how close is the nearest starport exactly?"

"A couple hours' drive depending on the traffic," one of the PDFs quipped. Somehow I had managed to boosts everybody's spirit a little bit, which would hopefully see us through the next few days. If there was an agent of Chaos at the heart of this, I was going to need a lot of firepower to back me up. Now that the crowd had been taken care, I asked Gustav to take me to see the priest he had made mention of earlier.

"I warn you…he's a bit…odd," Gustav said as he led me and Verity into a back room.

Inside, an aged man stood before an altar adorned with lit candles. He was meticulously lighting each candle, reciting a short prayer and litany then proceeding to the next candle and repeating the entire process.. Given how fanatical and methodical priests were with their rituals, he'd likely continue the process for each of the hundreds of candles that were yet to be lit. A part wondered why he would commit to such a task given the circumstances but, in a strange way, I sort of envied that part of him. Here was a man who, despite the whole city coming down around his ears and rising back up as ravenous undead, he seemed as though all was as it should be; as if this was just another page in a story written in the stars ages ago. I could never afford such blissful contentment. If it was not a zombie outbreak to consume my worries, then it was a heretical uprising, or a potential genestealer cult, or a Tyranid splinter fleet looming overheard. I had millions of potential enemies to thwart, each one more terrifying than the last. Being an Inquisitor was a huge responsibility but I would not have been in that position if people didn't believe I had what it took to get the job done.

"Father Magnusson!" Gustav called out.

"Do not interrupt the choir!" the priest snapped back, allowing us only a view of the back of his head and the white, braded ponytail that draped down his neck. "Can you not hear their angelic voices? They cry the tears of a thousand martyrs; a symphony of sorrow unto our debauched little world. Woe unto us for we have proven unworthy to bask in His light! May He grant mercy upon His faithful. Repent! For the dead have risen for Him to judge and we, who have sinned before Him, shall be dragged into the fires of his judgement." Now here was a greeting that I could honestly say, I was not expecting.

"Told you he was odd," Gustav whispered to me.

"Father, I believe this is important," a second voice spoke up. To my surprise there was actually another person in the room whom I had not noticed until she had stepped out of the darkened nook that she had been resting in. Like the priest she wore the humble robes of the Ecclesiarchy and judging by her young age and the Fleur-de-lis tattoo under her left eye, she was likely a member of the Adepta Sororitas (though sadly not of the armour-clad, bolter-spewing orders). She stood out from the others not only because she was the only other woman in the building but also because of her brown complexion and jet black hair, which was a stark contrast to the wide variety of the white demographic made up by the rest of us. Her eyes had fixated on me and she smiled, which normally wouldn't have been note-worthy except that it was one of those smiles that made it seem that she knew something about that to which I was about to be introduced to.

The priest begrudgingly turned about and when his biotic eyes fell upon me, they quite literally lit up. "Glory be unto Him, for His silver angel has descended upon us to deliver His providence and guide us to eternal salvation!" he exclaimed as he came over to us with arms outstretched to the ceiling. The good Father seemed to be two for two when it came to unexpected remarks but that apparently was his hallmark.

At first I simply exchanged glances with Verity, who seemed almost as confused as I was. "Don't look at me, I have father's hair," Verity said, referring to her darkened locks.

"I'm not greying that badly am I?" I groaned as I nervously ran my hand through my hair. Given how much effort I went through to get my unnatural white hair to regain some of its colour, it was a disappointment to see time and stress was restoring it to its way of old. Granted, being in the presence of Chaos always did bring out the worst in me, in more ways than one. I had long since gotten used to the overly-religious type making little sense at times but Magnusson was taking it to another level. He came over to me, a joyous grin across his weathered face, and immediately clasped my face in his hands. I tensed for a moment, uncertain of what to say, and slightly taken off guard by how cold his hands were (both of which were biotic). Morbid curiosity kept me from slapping his hands away as he seemed to…examine my facial features, humming and hawing as he tilted my head at various angles. Thankfully, I wasn't the only one confused judging by the puzzled looks on everybody else in the room.

"Hm, I expected a bit more radiance," Father Magnusson finally concluded as he took his hands off me.

"Shipboard lighting doesn't do much for the complexion," I replied. "Gustav tells me you came from the undercity. Can you shed some light on how this outbreak began?"

"Outbreak?" the priest replied and I got the feeling he was going to break into another sermon. "There is no outbreak here child! This is His punishment for our sins. Within the bosom of this world, we have become shielded from His light. Engulfed into the shadows of depravity, we have forgotten the virtues of our forefathers and His word has become drowned in a sea of sin and vice. To us, He had died! Bled to death by a thousand needles of idle minds. But now…now, His torch has come to burn out the wicked and the dead return to this plane so that He may judge them. It is as foretold by Saint Elkanah in the Book of Eternal Virtue, 'O Emperor on high, we beseech thee to bring forth those who walked these hallowed before us so that we-'"

"Father Magnusson," the young woman suddenly spoke up, in a tone both firm but respectful. "You should return to your litanies before the night ends," she said to the priest as she led him back to the rows of candles. Like an old man being led back to bed by their grandchild, he was quick to agree and seemed to have completely forgotten everything that he was saying before. Once the woman planted Father Magnusson back in front of the candles, he returned to his previous rituals as though nothing had happened and then she returned to speak with me. "My apologies about Father Magnusson…alas his passions and zeal sometimes leads him on tangents."

"Is he…alright, you know…in the head?" I asked as tactfully as I could manage.

"He has simply been blessed by wisdom and insight by the Emperor. He sees the world with eyes guided by the Emperor's light. It is not uncommon for us normal people to not fully grasp his level of understanding," she answered. I found it funny how she saw 'blessed' what I would take for 'shell shock.' "I am Sister Devi. I've been serving with Father Magnusson for many years now so perhaps I can better answer whatever questions you might have."

"I have a question," Balasz (who I had almost forgotten was still following me) spoke up, "Is it true that all members of the Sisterhood take oaths of celibacy?" I was barely able to contain the groan as I buried my face into the palm of my hand. Go figure that the world was coming down around his ears and he was more interested in chasing whatever tail he could get.

Sister Devi was as surprised as one would expect and while people in the Sisterhood do tend to have sheltered upbringings, even she could tell what a lecherous grin looked like. "Wh-what? Why do you…I mean, it's not a requirement," she answered. I had to admire the girl's restraint given that my first instinct would be a five across the eye. "Such oaths are taken by those who feel that sacrifice will show their level of devotion to the Emperor."

"And how is your level of devotion?" Balasz continued shamelessly.

"Well…I have never been tempted by such thoughts so to take such an oath would have been insulting to myself and the Emperor. I have taken vows of poverty and silence in the past but…uh, I'm just not in a position to take such oaths."

"I see," Balasz said with a slightly quizzical expression. "I'm going to say a word and I want you to say the first thing that pops into your head – cobblestone."

"Emperor."

"Meh, I'll pass," Balasz concluded dismissively and then walked away.

"Did I…miss something just now?" Devi remarked as she looked to me for some kind of an answer.

"I'd say you dodged a bullet," I replied. Since I didn't want to dwell on my associate's shameless debauchery, I switched focus back to the important matters at hand. "Gustav said that Father Magnusson made reference to an 'agent of the Emperor's wraith descending from the stars.' Did he…see something to make him say these things or does he usually get lucky with remarks like that?"

I got the impression that this was not the first time Magnusson had said something seemingly prophetic and was close to the mark as she seemed to know what I was talking about and nodded knowingly. "I would not be so bold as to say that he is prophetic or possess clairvoyance but…he sees and senses things that you and I would overlook. Where one would see a clear night sky, he sees messages written across the stars. It is a blessing…most of the time. I do not question the Emperor's Will but at times it seems that He is testing our faith through these visions. One time Father Magnusson saw a vision and tried to storm the Governor's palace, decrying him as a heretic and a worshipper of the Ruinous powers."

"I imagine that did not roll over very well," I replied.

"No it did not but…several weeks later one of the Governor's aides was ousted as a heretic and had been secretly making human sacrifices," Devi explained, a mixture of vindicated pride and lingering guilt in her tone. To the faithful, such 'accuracy' would clearly be the sign of a gift from the Emperor but personally I had seen weather predictions made with more accuracy. Give me free reign to investigate and I guarantee any decent Inquisitor could find at least one staff member in any Governor's palace guilty of heresy. At first I thought he might have been a psyker but Devi insisted that Magnusson had been seen by psykers before and none confirmed any psychic potential within him. It was entirely possible that he had some divinity backing him up…or he was just really observant. I was not the type to waste time investigate claims of divinity – I left that business to the Ordo Hereticus.

"So what did Father Magnusson see written in the stars?" I asked.

"He saw the end of this world," Devi said with surprising calmness given how accurate that statement seemed to be at the moment. "Father Magnusson had long been telling the people that this world would be punished by the God Emperor – corruption and vice pulsed through the streets like a plague and, in turn, a plague of sorrow would be returned in kind upon the people. People…usually ignored him."

"How could they with such an uplifting, cheerful sermon like that?" I quipped sarcastically.

"The truth rarely is," Devi replied with her best attempt at pretending not to be offended by my off-hand remarks. "Now as I was saying, Father Magnusson had repeatedly been warning people about their lack of faith. Then, one day he barges into the clinic where I help out at and demanded that I come with him. He said something about 'the harbinger had arrived.' So we headed out into the wilderness to try and put a stop to it."

"Isn't that sort of interfering with the Emperor's Will?" I asked, trying to follow the logic (which was usually my first mistake when it came to dealing with the Ecclesiarchy).

"Well, despite everything about him saying that this is the Emperor's punishment, Father Magnusson isn't prepared to give up on this planet. He felt if he could stop the herald, he might be able to redeem us all. Just because this plague is punishment from the Emperor, does not make it wrong to fight against it. By subjecting us to this, the Emperor gives us a second chance to prove our faith and resolve – to that end Father Magnusson and I have been praying day and night in hopes of earning the Emperor's mercy. In the end, if the Emperor truly wanted this planet dead with no chance of redemption, it would've been reduced to dust already." That was a rather interesting way of looking at things to say the least. Personally, I figured the Emperor had more important things to deal with than a planet's supposed lack of faith. It might not have the same level of comfort but the truth was the Emperor didn't go around picking planets at random – worlds burned and suffered because of the acts of men and women. This planet was being thrown to the void because some Chaos worshipping bastard decided to curry his god's favour through death and suffering. This planet deserved to die no more than Krieg deserved to be bombed into a sulphuric wasteland. "Unfortunately, by the time we reached our destination, some people sent by the Governor had already arrived and secured the crash site. Once again Father Magnusson tried to warn them of the dangers but they wouldn't listen. Eventually, we were forced to return home. Over the next week, Father Magnusson stepped up his sermons, stating that the herald of the Emperor's wrath had arrived and only the faithful would be spared. And then that's when people started getting sick – it started out as a slight fever and general malaise, then progressed into severe vomiting, diarrhoea, and confusion, and then after several hours the fever spiked and the patients' skin began to become infected with sores and ulcers. We threw everything we had at it – floxopan, duetrinimol, trosophil, acetylprofen, isodemoril, and even propanatric…but eventually the fever would just keep rising and the patient would burn out." At the end she let out a quiet sigh, evidently distraught over her inability to help those whom she had been caring for.

"That's a lot of drugs you prattled off," I commented. The average person might know one of two drugs and it's usually by its street name or maybe its manufactured label; rarely did I hear somebody list drugs by their chemical titles. "Are you from the Orders Hospitaller?"

"Heh, uh…yeah, I am," she admitted a bit sheepishly. "I must have forgotten to mention that. I help Father Magnusson during his services but primarily I helped at a med-clinic to tend to the impoverished. Within days of the first patient we were flooded with people suffering from this unknown illness…so many people were dying we just started tossing them in the back rooms. We had almost a hundred bodies stored in the back rooms when they…" she paused momentarily, a horrific memory tearing through her mind like a rabid beast. "Golden Throne it was awful…" she said weakly. "Just screaming and blood everywhere…and everybody just started running. And when then they barricaded the doors…leaving all the patients in with those things…" Sister Devi looked to be on the verge of an emotional breakdown, which I prayed to the Emperor wasn't going to happen because I was horrible at comforting people. My usual response to such emotional breaks was 'man up and grow a pair' but that would probably have been a touch on the insensitive side.

I gave the Sister a few moments to regain her composure before I continued with my questions. "Did you or Father Magnusson ever see this harbinger?"

"N-no but some of the patients claimed of seeing a giant figure surrounded by a swarm of flies. We weren't sure if it was accurate or they were simply delirious from the fever."

"It is a bringer of undeath!" Magnusson blurted out from where he stood over the candles. "It wickedness permeates through the air like a swarm of locust, twisting the weak and the faithless; turning all that is good into dust! Can you not hear their cries in the darkness? The harrowing wails of the damned call out for mercy!"

"That definitely sounds like a sorcerer," I muttered to myself. The plagues of Nurgle often took the physical form of flies or other insects, which usually spawned and swarmed around their summoner. That meant our primary carrier was highly mobile and extremely contagious. We'd be lucky if he were still in the city and it was now imperative we stopped him from getting off the planet. There was no point in trying to contain the outbreak with what little forces I had. I turned to the Sergeant-Major and said, "We might not have time to wait until daybreak, we may need to leave as soon as the lorry is finished."

"Traffic's going to be thick at this hour," Gustav reminded me.

"There's no time," I said with a sigh. "If this sorcerer can move through the warp then it could already be on the other side of the planet, spreading this plague through another city. If he gets off this planet there's no telling how far it'll spread." Though convincing him was technically optional, I didn't want to be dragging around a score of half-motivated troopers. Thankfully, I could always count on Kriegans to step up to the pitch no matter how bad things got. Gustav simply nodded and said he would go inform the troops. In the meantime, I headed out to check on Spike and the lorry.

I would have given my other arm to have had a chimera or a battletank at our disposal – something with a heavy-duty engine, treads, and a lot of mass. Instead, all we had in our one-vehicle motor pool was an old, civilian truck so flimsy that it made an Ork wartruck seem like a preferable alternative. It lacked anything resembling armour plating and its flat-nosed cabin meant it didn't have a very large engine. It's open-air flatbed left much to be desired as well but at least there was enough room to fit everybody…though it would be a tight squeeze. Spike was at the front end of the lorry, draped with a large tarp that had been fastened to the vehicle so he could examine the engine with a luminator orb without drawing every zombie to our presence.

"How does it look?" I asked.

"Nothing too serious," Spike answered from beneath the tarp. "It's mostly just suffering from a lot of neglect. A bit of tightening, a few reconnections, and some oil should do the trick. It'll take a few hours…unless you can get me some proper tools. Then it'll take a lot less."

"I'll see if I can find you some," I replied. "Once it's up and running, we're leaving."

"I expected as much," Spike said. He always seemed to know what I was planning next. I suppose that's just a sign of how long we had been working together. "I saw some heavy bolters up at the front of the shrine. Check and see if either of them has got a tool kit." It was a long shot but worth a try nonetheless. Most weapons used by the Kriegans were designed to function in the worst environments imaginable. During the civil war on Krieg, it wasn't uncommon for teams to have to dig out heavy weapons after they had been buried in mud by a stray artillery round. Still, most teams at least had a few wrenches for replacing the wheels.

I headed around to the front of the shrine where two heavy bolters were set up at the top of the rockrete steps. Their position provided a perfect line of sight down to the main gates about fifty meters away. Behind each gun were a watchful Kriegan soldier on his knees and a PDF trooper taking a nap. "Got any tools lying around?" I inquired to the nearest gunner.

The Kriegan shrugged. "Should have some. Not quite sure where they are. Let me ask Wes, I think he had them last." Wes was the PDF trooper slumped against the wall with his helmet pulled down across his face. The Kriegan leaned back and tapped the sleeping trooper a couple times on the boot. "Hey Wes, where are the tools?" he asked. Wes appeared to be a deep sleeper since he didn't even budge despite the Kriegan's repeated attempt to get his attention. "Idiot's been loafing all day," the Kriegan grumbled as he got off his knees and walked over to Wes. While the Kriegan had pegged the behaviour as typical PDF discipline, I started becoming slightly more concerned when I noticed that Wes wasn't breathing. Unfortunately, before I could say anything, the Kriegan smacked the apnoeic trooper with a loud, "Wake up you lazy arsehole!"

Well, the Kriegan at least succeeded in getting a reaction from Wes, just not the one he had been expecting. The smack knocked off Wes' helmet, revealing a pale, lifeless expression and glazed-over eyes. A groan stirred from its lips as its lifeless eyes fixed onto the Kriegan, who barely had time to get out a 'oh shit' before the soldier formerly known as Wes lunged at him. Without thinking, I lunged at the zombie and did the only thing that I could do to save the Kriegan's life – I jammed my bionic hand straight into the zombie's mouth and held on tight. The zombie had a tight grip on the Kriegan, pulling and grasping at his uniform like a love-sick juvie trying to get to second base. The only thing keeping the thing from chomping down were my four metal fingers wedged into its mouth, while the rest of me was just trying to pry the zombie off of him. Eventually, the Kriegan managed to get a leg up and finally push the zombie off and in turn I used that momentum to swing the zombie straight into the shrine wall.

"Son of a bitch tried to eat me," the Kriegan gasped. The elation of victory quickly dispersed, however, when we both heard a peculiar but horrifyingly familiar sound. Years of battlefield experience taught both of us to instantly recognize the sound of a grenade hitting the ground. On the rockrete between us was one of the Kriegan's frag grenades, sans pin. No prizes in guessing where the pin was, not that we were concerned with blame as we were both diving over the banister just in time to avoid the resultant explosion. The grenade also set off a couple of boxes of heavy bolter rounds, creating an even larger explosion that might as well have painted a neon sign in the sky saying 'tasty human buffet here.'

"Well, that's two brushes with death today. Only need one more to fill my quota," I groaned as the Kriegan and I crawled out of the shrub we had landed in.

"But…Inquisitor, you're hand…" the Kriegan said cautiously.

"Oh don't worry, I lost that arm years ago," I said with an indifferent shrug.

"Well, thank you for saving my life."

"Don't mention it," I replied. I seriously meant it too since saving lives was something I wound up doing a lot as an Inquisitor and eventually grew bored of the constant platitude. "Didn't by any chance happen to see a wrench while zombie-Wes was getting frisky with you?"

"No," he said before suddenly struck him on the helmet. Landing on the grass at his feet was a wrench – slightly dented and singed but intact nonetheless.

I was picking up the wrench when Gustav came rushing over, along with most of the troops, to see what all the noise was about. "There better be gooey zombie chunks out here or somebody's signing up for the human bomb squad!" Gustav shouted as he came out from the shrine. "What the frakking hell happened to my bolter?"

"Zombie happened sir," the Kriegan said wearily as he stumbled up the stairs. "Wes must've gotten bit or something because he tried to take a bite out of me. I'm sorry sir, I frakked up…"

"I ought to shove this lasgun so far up your arse you will be sneezing goddamn laser beams! Not even the Immortal frakking Emperor can unfrak your level of screw-up!"

"Uh, Sergeant-Major," I spoke up as I reached the top of the stairs. "I think we might have more pressing concerns." That 'concern' happened to be the swarm of zombies that were shambling up to our front gate. Even in the darkness I could see the swaggering shoulders and heads of the undead as they began to pile against the iron gates, a writhing sea of filth and undeath; almost thirty abreast and over a hundred deep…the very planet seemed to cry out under the damnable weight of them all.


	4. Faith & Pestilence p3

**Faith & Pestilence**

**Part Three**

_"If it is His will that I should die today, then I shall accept it whole-heartedly. But until he sends a very clear message stating that, I'm going to keep kicking the ever-loving crap out of anything that gets in my way!"_

_-Yours truly, on one of my better days_

Part of being an Inquisitor meant standing firm when everybody else is evacuating their bowels at an alarming rate. The tension in the air was palpable as our ragtag team of soldiers and arbites gazed into the darkness where thousand upon thousand of the walking dead pounded at our door. I could hear the murmurs from the crowd behind me and while the Kriegans remained unflappable, the rest of the troops were rapidly losing their composure. Our little fireworks performance attracted every undead shuffler in a half-mile radius. To make matters worse, the constant pounding on the iron gates was making an even louder racket and was serving as a continuous beacon announcing our whereabouts. Just in case the explosion wasn't obvious enough. And while what we saw was disheartening at best, like a bad case of dysentery, what we had below us was just the beginning.

"Everybody into firing positions now!" I shouted. Years of Commissarial training kicked in as I tried to take control of the situation. I had to stamp out the fires of fear before it consumed the entire group. And sure enough, when the Kriegans fell into line, those who were reluctant or hesitant followed suit. "Snipers, start picking off targets; the rest of you, hold your fire until the gate has fallen and aim for either the head or the legs. We just need to hold them off until we get the lorry running again." Everybody took position in the windows and on the balconies while a couple of snipers in the upper windows began popping heads with their long-las. I needed to update Spike on the situation, as well as deliver the wrench, so I hurried back to the lorry. Despite all the noise and the explosion, Spike was still at his post beneath the tarp.

"All the horrors of the warp about to break loose, boss?" Spike asked when he heard my footsteps approaching.

"How long do you need?" I asked as I handed him the wrench.

"About twenty minutes," he answered.

"You have less than ten," I ordered. Ten was being optimistic given the mass of enemies we were now facing. However, given the fact that the lorry was our only way out of there alive, I intended to give Spike every minute I could. "Verity, stay with Spike," I added. She had already stayed behind to help Spike with the vehicle but I just needed to make it official. I wanted her someplace safe, which was unfortunately the opposite of where I was going. On my way back to the front, I met up with Balasz and despite his vocal opposition, I had him follow me.

"You know, a shrine has got to be the last place in the galaxy I want to die in," he commented as we regrouped with Gustav and the others.

"Really? I can't think of a better place to make a last stand," Gustav answered, sounding almost excited at the prospect. Unfortunately, while last stands made for great reading material, being dead would have made it extremely difficult for us to retell the story later on. For a Kriegan, however, I suppose it was about as good as a career end as one could hope for. To expand on Gustav's earlier adage, Kriegans didn't retire – we got buried. "Besides, how would you prefer to go out?"

"Preferably at a very old age due to cardiac failure in the midst of a massive orgy…but maybe I'm just picky," Balasz said as he helped himself to a spare lasgun. A few soldiers within earshot had a slight chuckle but Gustav seemed disappointed. There was just no pleasing everybody it seemed. Nonetheless, while Gustav and the other Kriegans might have been content to make the shrine their last stand, I had every intention of living through this – if not for my sake, then for Verity's. It was my fault for letting her tag along on this mission even though every shred of maternal instinct had told me otherwise. It was strange how, when faced with seemingly insurmountable odds, notions like Emperor and Imperium and righteousness all seemed moot to me. The only thing on my mind, the only thing that motivated me to act, was my desire to get my child out of here alive. It was no wonder that most Inquisitors didn't have children – it seemed like too much of a distraction when you looked at it. But then again I hadn't planned on Verity…she just sort of…well happened. I could not bring myself to give up either the Inquisition or Verity and so I was stuck with the nerve-wrecking game of trying to find a balance to both. And looking back on things now, I doubt I would have had it any other way.

Strangely enough, we soon reached the point where we just wanted the gate to collapse just so we could get it over with. Watching the gate rattling under the constant batter from the undead was bad for our blood pressure. It was quite aggravating given what I had gone through to make sure nobody would freak out. To make matters worse, Sister Devi emerged from the shrine, likely wondering what all the commotion was about, and let out a shriek when she saw what was knocking at our door. "Emperor preserve us!" she gasped when she regained some semblance of composure.

"I think we're a bit beyond that point, doll," Balasz replied as he steadied his lasgun.

Like any good daughter of the Sisterhood, when faced with adversity, Devi immediately dropped to her knees and bowed her head. "Oh Immortal Emperor, please watch over your faithful in this dark hour. Shine upon us with your light and guide us to-"

"Oy prayer girl!" Balasz interrupted. "Either grab a gun or go back inside because you're seriously distracting me here."

Were she not so terrified, she probably would've kicked him in the head for his remarks. Personally, I was used to listening to all kinds of prayers and litanies during stressful times – it was a common outlet for soldiers and so long as they kept their weapons levelled and their hands at the ready then I had nothing against the practice. But Devi did stop her prayer and tried to shoot Balasz the angriest glare she could muster, which was pretty weak given her non-violent nature (and rather pointless given the fact that Balasz wasn't even looking in her direction). But then something else caught the Sister's attention and rather than retreat back into the shrine, she pushed up to the front. "Father Magnusson!" she called out. And that was when we all noticed the crazy bastard walking towards the main gates. In the darkness it was hard to make out what he was doing but it appeared as though he was leading some kind of one-man procession. In one hand he held a thurible, which left a faint smoke trail as he swung it back and forth, and in the other arm he had something propped up against his shoulder, which we mistook for some kind of processional banner. As he moved towards the gate, he chanted a High Gothic litany. I knew not what it meant but it was one that I had heard many times before…albeit almost solely by priests attached to Imperial Guard regiments.

"What in the Emperor's name is he doing?" Gustav remarked.

"Aside from offering himself to be killed?" I replied. The gate wasn't going to hold for much longer but Father Magnusson had walked straight into our line of fire and was standing only meters from the gate.

"Oh Emperor…please protect him!" Devi exclaimed, falling back into prayer mode.

I had to make a call and quickly. Most faithful were not going to openly fire on a priest, even if he was stupidly standing in our way. It was tempting to take the shot myself, or even order Balasz to, but I couldn't bring myself to do that. It could damage my authority and credibility with the soldiers, not to mention it risked hurting their morale. Finally I made up my mind and muttered, "I'm going to regret this." I raced down the stairs and across the courtyard, intent on hauling the idiot priest back even if I had to knock him out to do so.

"A spiritu dominatus, domine, libra nos! From the lightning and the tempest, Emperor deliver us! From the heretic and the darkness, Emperor deliver us! A morte perpetua, domine, libra nos! That thou wouldst cast thy enemies into the pyres of destruction, that thou wouldst guide our righteous blade, that thou wouldst cast thy light unto your faithful. Emperor, we beseech thee, deliver us!" Despite all my usual misgivings about the Ecclesiarchy, I had to admit that they knew how to deliver a speech; even the audience was uncaring and undead. Just as he finished, and with me still some distance to run, the gate finally gave out. Father Magnusson stood just far enough back that when the gates crashed to the ground, they had landed at his feet. And yet the priest did not move, even as the zombies began to rush towards him. "Stand tall in the darkness and light your way with the pyres of burning heretics!" he shouted and suddenly swung the thurible at the closest zombie. We realized he wasn't using Ministorum-approved incense when the shattering thurible erupted into a giant wave of fire, engulfing more than a dozen in holy fire. The horde's tight packing allowed the flames to jump from corpse to corpse with ease. In the light of the flames, I could see Father Magnusson still standing steadfast at the gate and I saw the other item he carried was not some religious icon but an eviscerator, a massive two-handed chainsword often found in the hands of battlefield priests. "Praise the Emperor and strike down his foes!" he bellowed as the massive blade roared to life. Its adamantium teeth and chains let out a harrowing shriek terrifying enough to make even the undead give pause. Strengthened by bionic arms, each swing took out several zombies at once, sending limbs, torso, and heads scattering across the courtyard.

And for a brief moment, we all just stood back in awe-struck silence. For before us stood a lone man, one against a thousand; and he did so without a second of hesitation, without an ounce of fear, and motivated solely by the fire in his heart. Most surprising of all, he was not just holding his ground but he was actually beating back the horde. And while I cannot say with certainty that the priest sang hymns as he cut a swathe through the undead ranks, I cannot say he did not.

Now that I, and everyone else, looked like a little twelve-year-old juvie, I decided to do something about it. In hindsight, I'm not certain what was running through my mind as I drew my sword and charged into the undead ranks; perhaps I had been inspired by his acts, perhaps I thought that taking some of the attention off of him was the only way to get him out alive, or perhaps I just attacked because I didn't want to look so weak in comparison to a seventy-year-old half-crazed priest with a chainsword the size of an adolescent child. I must have been crazy to think that assaulting a horde of zombies head on was a good idea. I fired a flurry of shots as I raced in and then decapitated the nearest zombie with a quick slash of my blade. The key to fighting zombies was to keep moving; to not give them a chance to latch on to you by moving from target to target and dispatching them as quickly as possible. And, of course, to make every swing count – chopping off heads and limbs were good while basic body strikes and stabs were a waste of time. Fortunately for me, the curved blade of a sabre was perfect for this method of combat. When the occasional zombie got too close for me to swing effectively, my sword's basket-hilt gave me the extra force I needed to knock out a few teeth out and discourage the frisky.

I thought that between the priest and I, we were doing a pretty decent job of holding back the tide. Then I heard Gustav's voice piercing through the darkness like an over-charged lasgun. "For the Emperor!" he bellowed. The crack of his bolt pistol rang close and I soon realized that Gustav had led his troops headlong into a frontal assault on the undead. Gustav was probably dismayed at being emasculated by a pint-sized female Inquisitor and an ancient priest and decided to not let us have all the glory. The Sergeant-Major, profane and boisterous like all Gustav clones, ran straight into the first zombie he could find (not like that was a difficult task), knocking it straight to the ground and finishing it off with a bolter round to the skull. Then, with chainsword in hand, he began carving through the zombies like an Emperor's Day roast. A few other chainsword wielding soldiers joined in, hacking away at the enemy and driven by righteous fury or a whole lot of pent-up frustration. Any sensible tactician would unanimously agree that we were all a bunch of damned fools; charging into a melee against a numerically superior force, abandoning superior elevation, and many of us forgoing our ranged weapons in favour of fighting an enemy in close-quarters. Those that didn't have chainswords kept a few feet back and were firing into the masses as they poured in. Somehow, despite our abandoning a positional advantage and therefore trading a possible victory for a horrific defeat; our zeal and fury compensated for our oversight . Of course, not everything went our way; during the fighting I saw several of our soldiers get overwhelmed by the zombies, often caught reloading or leaving themselves an awkward position after a kill. I do not know if those lives could have been saved had we stuck to the original strategy but I reminded myself repeatedly afterwards that no plan survives first contact with the enemy. Without the priest's inspiration, our lines could have crumbled; or by letting them into the courtyard, they could have spread out and enveloped our numbers. But by engaging at the gate, we created a bottleneck. In the end, there was no changing what we had done and all we could do was leave the results of our decisions to the Emperor.

Now if anybody in our group embodied the notion of zeal and fury, it was the Sergeant-Major. As my old friend Watz once said, clones from the Gustav stock weren't known for their charm or wit, it was their stubborn nature and their absolute refusal to back down in the face of the enemy. Gustavs tend not to have long careers so to see one attain the rank of Sergeant-Major meant he had defied the odds by beating them to death. If I didn't know any better I would say that he enjoyed the melee – shouting incoherent slurs and insults as he cleaved, shot, and pounded his way through the undead.

"Abel, what's your status?" Spike's voice buzzed through the comm-bead.

"Hectic," I answered curtly as I sliced off a zombie's arm, side-stepped it's cumbersome lunge, and then took its head off as it stumbled past me. "Tell me some good news Spike."

"Lorry's fixed up but we just need a few more minutes to jump-start the engine," he answered. Given how easy it is to look track of time in a battle, I wasn't sure if he had been quick or not in fixing the lorry nor could I tell if we would be able to hold for a few more minutes. It was difficult to tell during the fighting but when I took a brief moment to analyze our surroundings, I noticed we had been pushed back several meters. It wasn't that the enemy's numbers were too great but simply that all the dead bodies were forcing us to continually step back in order to have firm footing. The blood and bile made trying to fight atop of corpses difficult along with the fact that a downed zombie was not necessarily a completely dead one, a fact I learned quickly when I tried to move and noticed that a decapitated head was trying to chew on the steel toe-plate on my boot. With a quick snap-kick, I flung the head straight into the face of an approaching zombie, which did little more then cause its head to snap back long enough for my laspistol aerate its skull via a round entering under the jaw and exiting through the top of its head.

Though our line was slowing backing up inch by bloody inch (mostly the zombie's blood), the positive effect was that the layers of corpses were slowing down the flow of the zombies. It was a fortunate turn of events as I was starting to get a little winded hacking through scores of the undead. There was now ample time to take a few extra breaths before I had to decapitate the next zombie. However, even though the flow was slowing down, our line was getting stretched thinner and zombies were beginning to seep into the courtyard.

"There's no bloody end to them," I remarked to nobody in particular. After popping the head off a couple more zombies with my laspistol, I was forced to take a moment to reload, which was when I noticed that I was already down to my last few power cells. I decided to holster my pistol for the time being so when the next zombie shambled up to me, I simply drove my augmetic fist straight into its mouth, knocking all its teeth in. In hindsight there wasn't much use in punching a zombie but it felt good. A quick swipe from my phase sword took off the upper half of its head.

Finally, after what seemed like an hour of shooting, punching, hacking, and slashing through waves of undead, I heard the roar of an engine coming from behind. I took a quick glance over my shoulder and saw the lorry peeling across the courtyard lawn, tearing up all the perfectly manicured grass in the process. "Rides here!" I shouted over to Gustav, who happened to be nearby. He didn't respond at first as he was too busy smashing a zombie's face with a Catachan kiss so forceful that it left bits of teeth and bone clinging to his helmet.

"Emperor's blood…just when things were starting to get interesting," Gustav remarked before he let out an ear-splittingly loud whistle. "Soldiers, we are leaving!"

Lucky for us, breaking off an engagement from the shambling undead was as easy as breaking up with a deployed boyfriend. The only person that actually took some convincing to leave was the priest, who was waist-deep in undead while the rest of us were running for the lorry. Since I would have felt like an absolute bastard if I left him behind, I had to double back when I realized he had declined to follow us. "Magnusson!" I called out as I had to cut my way through several zombies just to keep sight of him. "We're pulling out! You need to come with us!" I wasn't sure if he failed to hear me or wasn't paying attention but either way I had to get closer if I were to get his attention. "Get the frak out of my way!" I started shouting even though the things getting in my way weren't going to listen. I began pushing my way through the zombies, many of which seemed more interested in trying to get to Magnusson than notice a pint-sized Inquisitor cutting her way through them like jungle brush. "Hey, crazy priest!" I called out, skewering a zombie through the back of the head while it pushing its body aside, "are you not listening to-"

My words were cut short, along with everything around me, when Father Magnusson swung my direction, along with his eviscerator. Thankfully, having far faster reflexes than the things around me, I was able to duck under while the giant chainsword cleaved everything around in twain. Finally, I was just sick and tired of being overlooked so I reached out and grabbed the priest by the robe and pulled him down so we were face-to-face. "Listen you stupid bastard, if you want any of that glorious salvation you were espousing before, you better follow me!" He was much more cooperative at that point, mentioning something about the Emperor's guidance as we ran for the lorry. "Mulder," I called over the comm-bead, "we're pulling out so get Sister Devi and get to the lorry."

"Already on it," his voice buzzed in response. As I had figured, Mr. Mulder was the only one of us who decided against running headlong into the deathless horde. I am certain that he was relieved that we were all so zealous about holding back the enemy and he felt he could leave the fighting to the professionals.

Magnusson and I were the last to reach the lorry. Much to my relief, Verity was sitting in the front cabin with Spike, which I figured would at least be the safest for her since it was the only part of the vehicle with a roof. "Praise the Emperor, you're both safe," Sister Devi greeted with much relief as we were helped onto the flatbed.

Once secured, I pushed my way to the front where I could at least see where we were going. Gustav was at the front too, standing firm and vigilant and splattered head to toe in zombie guts. He gave a curt nod when I reached his side. "I hope none of that is yours," I commented in half-jest. He didn't react but I couldn't tell since his gasmask covered his face. "By the way, you really stink."

"That's the smell of victory," he replied proudly.

"Funny how victory always seems to smell of decaying bodies," I commented just as Spike began to accelerate towards the gate...and the horde of zombies standing in our way. However, as the truck sped towards the exit, I suddenly had a realization and pounded on the cabin, shouting at him to stop. Were anyone else driving, they would have ignored me but Spike trusted my orders implicitly and the lorry screeched to a halt. Amidst a sea of 'what's going on?' I heard Spike ask for new instructions. "Back 'er up," I ordered. Again, he followed without question. The zombies might have been advancing but the courtyard was large enough that we had plenty of time. Spike kept backing the lorry up until we came to a halt in front of the shrine's main steps. Only one other person clued in as to why I had ordered the truck to head the opposite direction we needed and that was the Sergeant-Major.

Gustav immediately pushed his way to the rear and pointed to the three nearest soldiers to the next. "You, you, and you; get that heavy bolter on the double or you're walking!" he bellowed. Two of the soldiers immediately offloaded and disassembled the remaining heavy bolter, while the third gathered its ammunition. It took a bit of effort to get the heavy weapon onto the flatbed but once it was up, we moved it to the front and set it down atop the driver cabin.

"Let's get out of here," I finally ordered. With precision and efficiency, the two soldiers had the heavy bolter in position and loaded before Spike even got the lorry up to speed. "Verity, you might want to cover your ears," I warned just before Gustav gave the order to 'clear a path through this filth.' The zombies that weren't cut down by the spray of heavy bolter fire were plowed down by the speeding lorry. I had concerns that the piles of bodies we left might bog the lorry down, maybe even stop it completely, but we had enough mass and velocity to push through the mess, although it was a rather bumpy ride.

A few of the soldiers let out cheers and relieved sighs once we were clear of the major threat but Gustav was quick to shit on their parade. "Don't get too excited girls," he said sternly as he looked back to the weary troops behind him. "All we did was get out of the driveway; we've still got a space port to deal with." That somber reminder silenced everybody on the flatbed, save for me as I was unaware of a crucial detail. When I asked what made him so certain that the space port was going to be rough he answered, "Once the pansy-arse governor realized how much shit we were all standing in, he tried to get as many people off-world as possible. Needless to say, that meant a lot people crammed into the space ports. You can pretty much guess how well that worked out for them." Indeed I could and I could also put the pieces together and realize that it meant that what we had fought through was going to look like a brisk summer afternoon stroll compared to what was likely waiting for us at the space port. And anybody familiar with the exploits of my career can attest to how often the galaxy liked to save the messiest part for last.

* * *

The roads through the streets were relatively devoid of any sign of the undead. Occasionally we would see a zombie shambling along the side of the road and one of the soldiers would try to club them in the head with a lasgun as we drove by, often with minimal success. In the flatbed, Father Magnusson held a miniature sermon, telling the troops that it was faith and devotion that had seen us through the danger and not the lasguns and chainswords. At one point, when it safe, Spike stopped the truck long enough for me to climb into the front cabin. Primarily, I just wanted to check up on my daughter but also to get away from Magnusson's pedantic prattle. "How are you holding up there, kiddo?" I asked as Verity slid over to make room for me to sit.

"I am managing," Verity admitted after a moment to mull it over. Verity was rarely one to struggle with words, a side-effect from having a biotically-enhanced brain, so the three word answer wasn't as comforting as it had sounded.

"Are you sure?" I asked. I didn't necessarily think she was lying but like me she was not always forthcoming with her feelings. She preferred trying to figure things out on her own as she was accustomed to; a sense of self-reliance that served her extremely well later in life but made her early years difficult at times for her mother. It often led to unrealistic expectations and as I had to be there to cushion her landing when those expectations fell through.

"I admit these feelings of anxiety are a bit distressing," she admitted reluctantly. "I do not like having to stand back and leave my fate in the hands of others…n-not that I think you will falter, mother. I'm sorry to fail you mother; I am…scared."

After a moment of thought, I put my arm around her shoulder and gave her a reassuring squeeze. Once again, I had been torn between reacting like a commissar and behaving like a mother. I didn't want to coddle her but I also knew her courage was something that needed time to develop and mature. It would have been foolish of me to think that a young, relatively sheltered juvie like Verity would be brave when faced with hordes of flesh-eating zombies and trying to goad courage out of her would have been damaging in the long run. Or at least that is what I kept telling myself; I am certain there are those out there who would have disagreed. "Nobody is expecting you to play hero, dear," I reassured her. "It's a pretty frightening galaxy out there…everybody gets a little scared."

"Speak for yourself," Spike boldly scoffed.

"Forgetting about Simmiae Secundis? I remember a certain someone doing a lot of running and screaming back then," I remarked.

"That wasn't fear, that was distress and you'd be distressed too if a six-hundred pound, four-armed gorilla was trying to have its way with you."

"And whose fault was that?"

"How was I supposed to know it was frakking mating season?"

No sooner had Spike said that, I reached over and smacked him on the back of the head. "Mind your language, there's a juvie present." Our little back and forth helped to cheer Verity up as she tried to stifle a quiet chuckle. "As I was saying Verity, everybody gets scared from time to time. How you respond to that fear, however, is what's important. And over time you'll find the inner strength to stand against that fear."

"You know what would help her feel a bit braver?" Spike chimed in once more. "A weapon."

"Didn't we already have this discussion?" I replied. "She's too young to be waving a weapon around and you yourself said her aim still needs improvement. Even if I gave her a weapon, she wouldn't be able to hit them in the head and if things got hectic, she might hit somebody else in a panic."

"She can hit a man-sized target at close range," Spike argued calmly. "And given how numerous our enemy is, you can't be certain somebody will be watching over Verity at every instance. What if she gets separated or if you lose sight of her for a moment? If we're going to be walking into a space port that could be teeming with undead, she should have something to protect herself with as a last resort. Give her your plasma pistol – that'll do serious damage regardless of where she hits them." Once again, Spike's tactical analysis provided a more objective assessment of how to deal with my child. I still held reservations over handing a plasma pistol over to a juvie but I reminded myself that she probably knew more about the pistol than I did. And it wasn't as if she hadn't handled a weapon in combat before, against living opponents no less. In the end, I couldn't argue against Spike's logic and I reluctantly unbuckled my plasma pistol's holster from my hip.

"You know what this is Verity?" I asked with my best 'serious mother' tone.

"A MKIII Sunfury plasma pistol with added heat sinks, customized focusing lenses, and enhanced energizers," she answered with quick precision.

"Correct," I answered. As I was about to set it in her awaiting hands I pulled it back for a brief moment. "It is not a toy, nor a gadget, nor a trinket, nor a relic; it is a weapon. You are to treat this with the utmost respect. This weapon is to be used as a last resort only. And I do not ever want to see you aiming this anything you do not intend and need to kill, do you understand me Verity?"

"Yes, mother, I understand," she said with a steadfast nod. I was still a bit uneasy about handing over an advance piece of ordinance over to my daughter but at that point I was beyond any hope of calming my nerves down. The only way I'd be calm was when I was back in orbit.

Before I could say anything further, Gustav knocked on the back window to get our attention. "Stop the lorry for a second," he requested. I promptly gave Spike the okay and he brought the lorry to a slow halt. I wasn't certain why the Sergeant-Major requested us to stop, given that we were still on a highway, but I was confidant that he had a reason and there were no immediate threats in the area to make me consider otherwise. The moment we stopped, he hopped off the flatbed and walked over to the nearby guardrail with an amplivisor in hand. "The space ports just over there," he said when I walked over to find out why we had stopped. The highway we had been driving on for some time took us along the outer rim of the upper level of the city; its elevated position offered us a clear line of sight to the space port in the distance, which sat on the edge of the upper level like a cup-holder nailed onto the end of a table. The usual assortment of space port lights was still blinking in the darkness but they were part of automated systems. From a distance, the main control spire appeared to be undamaged, not that I expected zombies to knock down buildings, but there was no way of knowing how infested the area was without getting a bit closer.

"I don't suppose you know your way around that place?" I asked as Gustav handed me the amplivisor.

"Spent a few months protecting it from rebels and rioters trying to steal food supplies as they come in," Gustav answered. "The main gateway will be the easiest way to get inside. Once inside, we can use the service entrance to access a roadway that will take us straight to the control spire."

"Alternatives?" If the area was as infested with zombies as my paranoia suggested, I didn't want to head into a space port without a back-up plan. While true that my track record with plans wasn't that great, as plans had a tendency of imploding once they were introduced to the enemy. However, they were always comforting to me and gave the illusion that I had some idea of what I was doing.

"The cargo transport route would be the second best option – it's not as direct but it still avoids all the passenger areas. Biggest problem for that route, though, is all the gates that we'll probably need to open to get into the central area. There're three of them and with no easy way to bypass them." Gustav's alternative wasn't as encouraging but it was still a viable plan. Plus, between Spike and Verity, there weren't a lot of doors that we couldn't break through. "Worse case scenario, we proceed on foot and use the passenger terminals and fight our way through to the control spire. The inside is still relatively open and there plenty of chokepoints we can use to thin their numbers if need be."

"Do we even have the ammunition to shoot our way through?" I asked with a hint of concern.

"Inquisitor, I will get you to that control spire even if I have to beat every Emperor-forsaken zombie to a second death with my bare frakking hands," Gustav reassured me. Had I not witnessed earlier what that Kriegan murder machine was capable of, I would have pegged it as another boastful claim but I had a feeling that he would do exactly that if need be. Besides, a general goes to war with the army they have so it wasn't as if I could go to supply depot and ask for a different Sergeant-Major.

"Well, no point waiting around here then," I said. A bizarre thought popped through my mind just then, causing me to let out a quiet chuckle.

"Something amusing Inquisitor?" Gustav remarked.

"Nothing just…well, before the Inquisition, I served in the Commissariat," I explained. "My first real battle was a landing at a space port. I just thought it was kind of funny that my career might now end in one."

"Don't think like that," Gustav replied, "something could still kill you before we even get there."

"Heh, good point," I said with another chuckle. Kriegan humour was generally so grim it could be considered dead.

Once the Sergeant-Major and I got back on board the lorry, Spike sped off and we continued on our way to the space port. As we drew closer to our destination, we noticed more and more lone zombies meandering along the roads. Gustav forbade the troops from trying to take any shots at them since we needed to conserve as much ammunition as possible. Things were going smoothly until Spike alerted me to an oncoming problem.

"Uh…we've got traffic," Spike said as he directed my attention to the distance. Unfortunately, we had failed to take into account left-over civilian traffic from all the panicked citizens trying to evacuate. The roads were more stuffed than an Emperor's Day roast with barely enough room between cars. With few alternatives, Spike veered the truck towards the shoulder of the road, where there was at least enough room to squeeze most of the truck through. "Arms and legs inside the vehicle," he warned as the truck clipped the first car, shoving it aside with a loud grinding noise. Any hope of getting to the space port without making too much noise was now as dead as the rest of the population. The truck bumped and smashed and shoved its ways past each car, knocking out windows and mirrors and doing a terrible number of its paint job. "What I wouldn't give for a chimera right about now," Spike grumbled as the truck ground to a temporary halt. The next vehicle was a bit reluctant to move. He quickly threw the lorry into reverse, backed a few meters, and gave it another go. This time, we had more success as the truck knocked the stationary vehicle aside, although it left the engine with an unsettling chugging noise.

After having shoved aside about a dozen cars, our truck finally shifted into an empty lane. Seconds later, the driver's side door, which had been the unfortunate center of a metal-and-rockrete sandwich, promptly fell off its hinges. "Please tell me this heap of metal can make it the rest of the way," I remarked as I noticed the passenger side door was clinging to the proverbial edge.

"As long as we don't have more collisions like that," he replied. The impacts must have knocked the axles out of alignment as the truck was constantly drifting left, forcing Spike to constantly correct for the drift, resulting in a swerving motion. An occasional puff of smoke was coughed forth from the engine compartment as most enginseers would agree that they were not intended to be used as battering rams. Of course, Spike's rationality towards improvised bludgeoning devices consisted of 'if it shouldn't be used to smash things, why was it made from six hundred pounds of solid metal?' The truck pulled a sharp turn into the space port's main yard, crashing through a few chain-link fences in the process. Despite Gustav's pervious warnings, there appeared to be very few zombies in the outer areas of the space port.

"You'll want to head that way," Gustav shouted through the back window, directing our attention to a large bay door at the base of a ramp.

"Thank the Emperor, we're almost-" Spike began but never got a chance to finish the sentence. He was interrupted to the sound of someone in the back shouting 'incoming' followed by a series of explosions that hit the side of the truck. The impact sent the truck into a slide before momentum tipped it over and sent it crashing onto the asphalt. One would think that after so many years I would have learned to always remember to buckle up my seatbelt but apparently I needed a refresher course. When my senses came to, the lorry was on its side with me laying on the passenger side door with a dazed Verity atop of me. Spike was the only one smart enough to have remembered the important safety feature, which had saved him from being flung out of the vehicle when it flipped over. "You two okay?" Spike asked as he adjusted his position.

"What the frak was that?" I groaned.

"Either the zombies learned how to use a rocket launcher or some friendly plague-spewing harbingers of the apocalypse are close by," he replied. It turned out that the space port wasn't just our closest point of escape but also the current location of the being we had been seeking. However, a psychotic, planet-dooming minion of Chaos wasn't our immediate concern as we noticed masses of zombies beginning to swarm towards the lorry, including one that was right in front of the now-shattered windshield. "Shit! Cover your ears!" Spike warned as he grabbed his shotgun and took aim. However, instead of palming my ears I instead clasped my hands over Verity's just before the shotgun rang out. Firing a slugthrower inside a giant metal box was a quick and easy way to ensure that you'll need hearing aids further down the road. The zombie was splattered across the asphalt but all I could hear was an echoing, ringing in my ears. I couldn't hear what Spike said afterwards but judging by the waving of his hand he wanted us to get out of the cab. Verity and I crawled through the broken windshield while Spike clamored out driver's side door.

"Where's everybody else?" I shouted, albeit oblivious to just how loud I actually was. I wound up drawing a lot of attention to myself. The passengers in the flatbed had been scattered across the asphalt by the blasts. Some weren't able to recover from the shock of the landing before being overwhelmed by the undead, while some of the others were regrouping around the Sergeant-Major. "Where's Mulder?" I asked when I couldn't spot him.

Verity was able to find our missing conman, pointing out his location several meters back. He must have fallen off the lorry first got struck, along with Sister Devi, and were quickly being surrounded by zombies. As callous as it may sound, were it just Sister Devi I would have written her off as an acceptable casualty but Mulder was kind of important to my work. "Verity, stay with Spike," I instructed before I drew my blade and charged towards Mulder's position. Most of the zombies weren't paying attention to me, making it easier for me to cut and cleave my way through their numbers. After about a dozen zombies, I finally made it to Mulder's position. The zombies seemed to have been ignoring him as well, instead focusing on Devi, who was rapidly reciting prayers while Mulder held them back.

"We need to get out of here," I shouted as I took a zombie's head off and then pushed the body aside.

"No argument here," Balasz replied. A zombie stumbled past him on route to Sister Devi, to which Balasz quickly whipped out a concealed derringer and put its single bullet right into the zombie's eye socket, complete with all the subsequent gory results.

He moved to follow me when I quickly stopped him and said, "Get the girl."

I could see the frustration in his eyes but he said nothing and quickly doubled back for Sister Devi. "On your feet lady," he instructed as he pulled on her arm. He did it just in the nick of time too as he pulled her away from a trio of zombies that were about to make a midnight snack of her. "For frak's sake, you're about to die and all you can think of is praying?" he griped as he fired off three rounds, one into each undead skull.

"I'd rather die without sin than out of breath," Sister Devi answered, sounding almost indignant that Balasz interrupted her prayers. However, a few oncoming zombies and several more gunshots quickly left her silent so we were able to regroup with Gustav with little difficulty. The Sergeant-Major and the remaining survivors had formed into a tight circle and were fighting back the hordes. Unfortunately, it was plain to see that such a position could not be held for very long.

"We need to leave, now!" I stated as though there was any disagreement to the notion.

Well, actually there was one person who didn't like that idea. No prizes in guessing which among us was so mentally deficient to think that fighting impossible odds was the ideal solution. "We cannot leave now!" Magnusson exclaimed as his eviscerator revved up. "The darkness descends! The scourge of heresy stands before us! We must press forth and purge the wretched horror lest it stains our very souls!"

"Yes…stay and play with us…" a sickly, bloated voice wormed through the air. I had parlayed with the Ruinous Powers before but servants of Nurgle always left me feeling…dirty. Their voices were always as if somebody was vomiting right into your ear. Our harbinger of foul-smelling death was fairly easy to spot even from our distance as he stood head and shoulders above the undead hordes. The darkness left him as little more than a vacuous silhouette but there was no mistaking him for anything other than a Plague marine. If there was any lingering doubt whether it was a sorcerer or not, they evaporated about as quickly as the skin from a nearby PDF soldier. He let out a wretched scream of agony as his skin suddenly burst into scores of oozing sores and boils, which enveloped him in seconds until he was little more than a bubbly, deformed lump of pus-leaking flesh. Spike and I had to hold back the remaining PDF trooper who tried to go and help his comrade; unfortunately, there was nothing we could do for the man at that point.

"Emperor have mercy," Sister Devi gasped at the sight, turning several shades paler in process.

"We're leaving!" I shouted. "Everybody stay close!" There was no room for debate anymore as we all ran in the opposite direction, shooting and cutting down anything that was in our way. Even Father Magnusson was following along, though it seemed to be mostly because Devi was constantly pulling on his arm. Many would argue that my decision to show my hind-quarter to the enemy was unbecoming of an Inquisitor but I cannot stress it enough that we were grossly outnumbered and completely exposed on every flank. We were down to about a dozen people but we made good progress through what opposition we faced. For whatever reason, the Plague sorcerer did not seem interested in pursuing us, though some sorcerers could teleport through the Warp so it didn't necessarily mean he was out of the picture. Either way, we were relatively safe as long as we kept moving and once we broke free of the main cluster of zombies, it was an easy sprint across the tarmac to the maintenance tunnel door. "Verity, get the door open," I ordered once we reached it.

"Her? Is she some kind of tech-priest?" Gustav asked with understandable confusion.

"Not exactly…but she does know her technosorcery," I said, not wanting to get dragged into long explanations when we still had death looming over our heads. "How's it look, Verity?"

"It's a rudimentary multi-digit access code terminal. Zero security, zero hindrance," she answered as she pulled a cable out from the depths of her dark hair. A sharp metal spike extended from the end of the cable, which she promptly jabbed straight into the control lectern. Everybody, save for the three of us who'd seen this a dozen times before, were all taken aback by this action.

"What manner of child is she?" Devi asked, sounding less surprised and more suspicious.

"The very special kind. This is really not the time to be discussing this," I replied impatiently. No sooner had I finished my sentence, Verity let out a successful cheer, followed by the door slowly opening. Elation turned into disappointment, however, when the door opened to reveal that we had unlocked the door into the zombie convention hall. It made the crowd we had just fought our way through look like a social tea party. "Oh for frak's sake," I groaned and put a lasbolt into the nearest undead freak. Needless to say, we decided to find another direction to run, now with a few extra thousand zombies to motivate us. We had little choice but to go with Gustav's third option – heading inside the passenger terminal and proceeding on foot. Luckily, the entrance to the aforementioned building wasn't too far away and we only had to fight through a few dozen zombies from the original horde we had been fleeing from. After some of the most frantic running of my life, we eventually found ourselves in the depths of the passenger terminals, surrounded by cold darkness and a lot of heaving lungs. Even I, one who normally tried to maintain a level composure, resigned to collapsing to my knees in order to catch my breath.

"I…am getting…really tired…off all this running…" Spike gasped between breaths. "Are we…at least…in the clear…for now?"

"Yeah…I think so," Verity answered as she looked around cautiously. Were anyone else answering, I would have remained on my guard but with all of Verity's bionic augmentations, nothing short of a rift in the warp would get the drop on us. I would have preferred to have kept moving but once the madness had subsided, I had trouble finding the energy or motivation to move my legs. Upon a cursory evaluation, the rest of my party had similar feelings. Thus, I acquiesced to the fact that a short rest was going to be needed if we were to carry on with any semblance of haste. The air inside the terminal was dry and stale; every breath scratched at my throat as though I were breathing in sandpaper. Spike, always one to keep prepared, passed a canteen around but with a half-dozen thirsty mouths (since most of the soldiers had their own flasks) by the time I got my hands on it there was barely enough to wet my tongue. In hindsight I probably should have said something when I noticed Verity chugging back almost half the canteen on her own.

"Remind me again why we came to the space port?" Balasz said sarcastically while checking his weapons. "Because it seems to me all we've done is put ourselves in the middle of the worst frakking place on the whole damn planet! Next time you have a brilliant plan Abel, just shove it up your arse and call it a day!"

Since complaining was what Balasz always did, I simply ignored him. Sister Devi, however, decided to step up to my defence and slapped the scoundrel so hard across the face that it echoed throughout the terminal. "How dare you speak ill of her? Were it not for her you would probably be dead right now!" she shouted.

Balasz was probably accustomed to getting five across the face that he didn't even seem annoyed at the physical strike, instead focusing his irritation on her accusations. "Lady, if it weren't for our wonderful Inquisitor, I'd be half-way across this galaxy, sitting on a nice little beach with a glass of twenty-year-old amsec surrounded by gorgeous, scantily-clad women. I would certainly not be traipsing across the sector or masquerading as a luncheon on legs and I most certainly wouldn't be wasting my time saving a worthless little bitch like you! Next time you want to drop to your knees, you'll want to shout louder cause your Golden sack of bones can't hear you from ten thousand frakking light years away!"

On the Ferrograd, Balasz's borderline heretical behaviour was reluctantly tolerated. He got into arguments with crewmembers from time to time but most just refrained from talking to him, which was kind of how he preferred things. However, spouting blasphemous remarks in front of several highly devout Kriegan soldiers and a priest with a five-foot chainsword ranked on the stupid scale just below playing scrumball in a minefield. Unfortunately, my usual method of saving Balasz's arse was the 'drop him, I drop you' tactic. Said tactic wasn't very effective when dealing with soldiers who didn't consider anything a victory unless somebody had died for it. The only thing I could do on such short notice was quickly pull the idiot back and put myself between him and all his adoring fans.

"Okay, toys down folks," I said to the half-dozen lasguns and revving chainswords now directed towards me. "There's enough death and dismemberment outside that we don't need to start carving each other up."

"One does not turn a blind eye to the scourge of heresy, lest he allows his other to be plucked from his skull," Magnusson said. Given the size of his eviscerator, he could have cut Balasz and I in half with one swing and given his fanaticism, I wouldn't have put that thought past him.

"As hard as it may be to fathom, he could very well be the only one that can keep us alive," I said. Frankly, I didn't expect that to win the argument since even I would have been skeptical of such a claim but Balasz was my wild card.

"Tis better to let a thousand innocents burn that allow one to fall in worship to the daemons!" Magnusson retorted.

"Hey, now wait a second," I quickly interrupted, "Balasz might be an arsehole of gargantuan proportions but he doesn't worship daemons. I've had this guy on my ship for a while now; I'd know if he were up to something as serious as that. He's a harmless fool...an extremely irritating and pompous fool but a harmless and very useful fool nonetheless."

"Gee, thanks for the support boss," Balasz muttered into my ear.

"To tolerate such blasphemy only encourages it," Gustav said sternly with his bolt pistol aimed square at my face (since Balasz kept his right behind it). "The only thing required for heresy to thrive is for good men to do nothing."

It was always irritating when I had to stand and defend Balasz. I always felt like I was sacrificing a piece of my own integrity by claiming the man should not be put to death for blatant heresy…even if a part of me did agree to that. Hell, a younger version of me would have stood alongside Gustav ready to shoot first and blame it on the heretics. She would have even used the same words that Gustav had, quoting from a famed Kriegan officer from during the civil war. I decided to return fire with the verbal equivalent of an Exitus rifle's bullet.

"Ich werde diese Last tragen, so dass es nicht zu behindern Sie auf Ihrem Marsch zum Sieg," I answered calmly. Father Magnusson didn't react but all the Kriegan soldiers slowly lowered their weapons with what I imagined were stunned expressions behind their masks. They were words that only made sense to a Kriegan; when Colonel Jurten ordered Krieg to be cleansed with atomic fire, he risked open revolt from his own troops as a result. The Colonel was able to pacify his disgruntled troops with his now famous words, originally spoken in the old Kriegan tongue, 'I shall carry this burden so that it does not hinder you on your march to victory.' He could be considered a monster or a hero depending on who you asked but virtually all would agree that it was because of Jurten's actions that Krieg was eventually returned to the Emperor.

"You…are of Krieg?" Gustav asked.

"Does the nuclear haze glow gold in the morning?"

"Well, if you really think he's worth it," Gustav said reluctantly as he motioned for his men to stand down.

"He is…not that I technically needed your permission," I said as I motioned to Spike and Verity who stood behind the Sergeant-Major. Both of them had their weapon trained on the cluster of soldiers. In the end, I couldn't help but be a little irked that being a Kriegan meant more to these soldiers than being an Inquisitor. But then again, I couldn't fault them for adhering to their principles and duties; Inquisitors were, after all, susceptible to heresy as well.

"Wait, that's it?" Devi interrupted with a hint of surprise. "She spouts some random babel and you just fall in line?" I detected a hint of the 'sore loser' syndrome in the young lady as she probably would have enjoyed seeing Balasz's guts perforated by laser fire.

"Why not? That's what you do all the time with your Emp-oof!" Balasz tried to get one last cheap shot in but I swiftly elbowed him hard in the gut to keep him from re-lighting the fire. With the situation pacified, we were able to continue moving on.

* * *

"This reeks of 'bad idea' Abel," Spike said after quickly evaluating the situation. Whether by luck or the Emperor's divination, we were able to reach the control spire without further incidence. The downside, however, was that the only access route we could get operating was a back-up lift that only had enough room for a couple of people to fit in. Given the height of the spire and assuming that the lift operated at 'recaf machine first thing in the morning' speed, it would take a half-dozen trips and close to a half-hour just to get everybody to the top. Since we only needed to go up in order to make contact with the Ferrograd in orbit, I had decided that only one party would head up while the rest remained below to hold the position. Despite Spike's insistence, I opted to take Gustav and Verity with me – I needed Verity in case there were problems with the communication systems and Gustav was better at close-quarters than Spike. I also needed somebody I could trust to watch Balasz in case the others had a change of heart.

"I've made my decision," I said sternly. "I want to spend as little time as possible up there. I need you to make sure this area doesn't become a zombie convention in the meantime."

"At least let us send a second lift of troops up there," he argued.

I shook my head. "If I run into trouble, I don't want to be waiting for the lift to return. We go in, we make the call, and then we get out. Understood?"

Spike let out a reluctant sigh and nodded. "Understood Inquisitor."

"Excellent, then let's not waste time then," I acknowledged and motioned for the Sergeant-Major and Verity to follow. The lift was just barely large enough to fit the three of us, with Gustav and I pressed against each end and Verity tucked in between us. As we shut the lift door and it began to ascend, I had to take a few deep, calming breaths to keep my claustrophobia from kicking in. The elevator was definitely cramped and the only source of light was a single luminator orb above our head but by constantly reminding myself that it was a lift that would soon arrive at a wide, open space, I was able to keep in check. Nothing destroyed an Inquisitor's credibility faster than a complete mental catastrophe (also know as 'flipping out').

"Mind if I ask something a bit personal Inquisitor?" Gustav spoke up after a few moments.

"As long as it's not my personal vox number, go ahead," I replied.

"Is it really wise for you to have brought a child, not to mention your own child, on a mission?"

"Well, she might not look like it but she's got a special gift and a lot of potential," I explained as I glanced down to her for a moment. She beamed with pride at my remarks. "She's got some fairly advanced bionic implants."

"Really?" Gustav replied in slight disbelief. In his defense, Verity did look like a run-of-the-mill fourteen-year-old juvie but that inconspicuous appearance just made her even more valuable. "How advanced are we talking?"

"'Dark Age of Technology' advanced. The Adeptus Mechanicus would probably try to hunt her down if they knew about her." I was even wary of leaving her unattended around the tech-priests on my own ship and that fear of the Adeptus Mechanicus was another why I kept her with me.

"How'd you manage that?"

"That…is a long story," I said with a sigh. I wouldn't have even been able to give Gustav an abridged version since a few moments later the lift came to a halt and the doors finally opened. The control spire was thankfully devoid of anything that shuffled or groaned. A few bodies were off in a corner but judging by the gunshot wounds to the head, they were some unfortunate souls that had become trapped in the spire and opted for the painless way out.

"We're going to need more guns," Gustav commented plainly as we both looked out the spire windows. The windows offered us a clear view of the surrounding space port though I soon regretted taking a glance to the ground below. Our sorcerer must have acted as a beacon to the undead because the tarmac below was…writhing. Thousands of them were gathering at the main landing pad where an old freighter was still parked. It became pretty clear what was going to happen soon.

"Once we contact my ship and get out of here, we can blast this space port into dust," I said as I headed over to a wall of computer consoles. Verity had ignored the window when we arrived and had gone straight for the consoles. She was already at work while Gustav and I were admiring the view. Most of the systems appeared to have been powered down but Verity was already on top of that issue and was prying panels off the machines. "Can you get it running again?" I asked. I would have offered to help but I barely knew technosorcery beyond what went into my guns and even that was limited.

"Give me one of your power cells," she said. I trusted her judgment and handed one over, which unfortunately left me with only one power cell to spare. Within a couple of minutes, Verity had the power cell hooked up to the console as an improvised power source. She was, however, quick to inform me that even a power cell would only allow maybe a minute of transmission at best. She initiated a few quick rites of activation and soon the lectern lit up like an Emperor's Day tree. "Clock's ticking, get talking," she advised me as she handed over a receiver for me to speak into.

"This is Inquisitor Abel calling the Spirit of Ferrograd; Ferrograd come in, over."

"Spirit of Ferrograd?" Gustav remarked before chuckling to himself. The ship's name was another Krieg reference. Ferrograd was the name of the only hive city not to fall to the rebels during the civil war and it was where Colonel Jurten began the five-hundred-year-long campaign to retake the planet. I figured it was a fitting name for a ship trying to reclaim the Imperium one star system at a time. I anxiously waited for a response; each second of dead air seemed to stretch for ten times as long and I worried that the power would die before I heard anything.

"This is Captain Engelhart," a voice weakly crackled through the receiver, "where the hell have you been? We've been trying to raise you for hours. The whole planet seems to have gone to hell, over."

"I know. I'm smack-dab in the frakking center of it," I replied. "Tell Celeste to load up the Zweihander and get down here for emergency extraction. Landing zone is hot so bring some heavy hitters with her. Lastly, bring the Ferrograd into geo-synch orbit over my position and prepare for orbital fire. Please acknowledge, over."

"Zweihander will be sent immediately to your location for extraction. We are moving the Ferrograd into position for bombardment and will await further orders, over."

A few seconds later, the connection went dead, along with all the lights on the console. "Hello? Argentus are you still there?" I tried in vain for a few moments before tossing the receiver aside. "Well at least that takes care of one problem," I said with relief.

That relief, like most positive experiences on this mission, was short-lived when I heard a bizarre crackle noise come from behind me, followed by an unsettling rush of air against my skin. I had felt that sensation enough to recognize them as the hallmark features of a teleportation through the Warp. Instinctively, I spun about face while drawing my sword and found myself standing face-to-putrid-face with a towering Chaos sorcerer of Nurgle. I was barely able to keep my stomach from doing a back-flip when I was hit by its pungent odour. Like all plague marines, his body was so bloated that it bulged and cracked the power armour that barely contained it; his right arm had broken free of the armour casing and held a sizable blade that dripped with unholy toxins. "So you are the one who stands against me," the sorcerer spoke, his voice once again making my ears feel as though they had been used as puke buckets. "You cannot hope to stop me."

"Well what if I asked really, really, really nicely?" I remarked. Not surprisingly, he simply chuckled at my remarks before taking a swing at me. Why the Chaos sorcerer opted to use a sword instead of just filleting me with his mind was, and still is, a mystery to me. Perhaps the Emperor was watching over me that day since I had absolutely no defense against a direct psychic attack; or perhaps gutting me with a blade was more satisfying to him. Whatever the reason, his massive size and strength was no match for my nimbleness. Being short had the slight advantage that even a mid-level swing for the sorcerer was at head-level for me. I rushed inside his reach, ducked under his swinging arm, and then drove my blade into his side. Unfortunately, I am fairly certain I hit nothing but pus and swollen flesh as the sorcerer didn't even seem to flinch at my attack. And to make matters worse, my blade was now stuck. I got stalled trying to extricate my weapon from the swollen sack of flesh, giving the sorcerer ample time to grab me by the scruff of my coat. I was promptly hoisted off my feet with my blade still sticking out from his side.

"You're pitiful attacks cannot harm me!"

"Like I haven't heard that one before," I said mockingly. "I'd take your head for a trophy but it would stink up my waiting room."

Servants of Chaos were usually very easy to rile up and when they got angry they had a tendency to not notice the guy with a chainsword sneaking up behind them. The whine of Gustav's chainsword was quickly dampened into a churning gurgle as he plunged it through one of the fissures in the sorcerer's armour, spitting out blood and yellowish-goo across his uniform. That was enough to get the sorcerer to drop me though I wasn't able to retrieve my blade as he turned about and swung his blade at Gustav. The Sergeant-Major parried the oncoming attack before falling into a roll and raking his chainsword across the sorcerer's knee. I tried to move in to reclaim my sword but the sorcerer was quick to respond and struck me with its giant, bloated arm. Despite looking as though they were the flabby-arms of a morbidly-obese governor, it still felt like getting hit by a tree log swung by an Ogryn. And like the ball to his bat, I went sailing across the room, bouncing off a console, tumbling across the floor, and finally crashing into the lift.

"Are you okay mother?" Verity asked. She had taken shelter in the lift when the trouble began.

"Just a few contusions…to go along with all the others," I groaned as I sat up with one arm clutching at my side. I lifted my head just in time to dive back to the floor as my sword came hurtling back at me, narrowly missing my head by a few inches and lodging into the lift wall. A few seconds later, Gustav got to enjoy a similar trip as I had, landing just outside the lift door to the tune of a half-dozen profanities.

"We need to pull back," I groaned as I got back to my feet. While in terms of swordsmanship I figured we had the upper hand but it was only a matter of time before the sorcerer got bored of playing with us and turned us inside-out with his psychic powers.

Gustav nodded as he too returned to his feet, chainsword firmly in hand. "Yeah, you need to get out of here," he replied.

At first I thought he was simply agreeing and by the time I noticed the subtle difference in his response I was too late and he slammed the lift's button. "Gustav wait!" I shouted in vain. Alas, the doors slammed shut in my face and the lift began to descend. "Dammit!" I cursed as I slammed my fist into the door.

"W-why did he do that?" Verity asked.

I let out a prolonged sigh, taking a few steps from the door and leaning against the opposite wall. "He's doing what he promised he would…" I answered quietly. Despite the rational part of me knowing full well that Gustav's sacrifice was not only justified by necessary but it still hurt knowing that somebody was about to die for my sake. I tried to tell myself that it was the only way to protect the lift while it descend the control spire but that didn't change the fact that he was gone because of me. Unfortunately, I didn't have much time to feel sorry for myself as a call over the comm-bead came bearing even more bad news.

"Uh…Abel, I don't mean to hurry you up but we've got a bit of a situation brewing down here," Spike said.

"I'm already on my way down," I replied. "What's the situation?"

"Just more restless natives," Spike said nonchalantly. "They're pounding on the doors at the moment but I don't think they'll last much longer."

"They're unarmed. How are they going to break solid metal doors?"

"You'll see when you get here." More problems were not what I needed at the moment. At the very least, I took some comfort in the fact that help was on its way and knowing how Celeste flew, it would be here soon. When I arrived at the ground level, I found Spike and the other troops arranged in a firing line with their weapons trained on a heavy metal door in the distance. At first I wondered what had them so concerned but then I heard a very loud thud come from said door, which bulged slightly from whatever hit it.

"I see we have door crashers," I remarked as Verity and I stepped out of the lift.

"Yeah we…hey, where's Gustav?" Spike asked. His remark drew all the Kriegan's attention towards me.

"He…he's buying us time," I said plainly. I honestly didn't know how long he would last against a Chaos sorcerer but it would not be long. If we didn't hurry we'd have an even bigger problem to deal with. "We need to get moving? Which way to the landing pads?"

"Umm…that way," a Kriegan answered as he pointed to the door that was ready to come off its hinges. The banging grew louder with what I thought at first was an echo but soon realized that it was just more pounding on other doors around us. The tension grew thicker with each hit the door took until finally a hand the size of a power fist broke through the frame. A second later the door was ripped out of the frame and a hulking zombie came barging in to the sound of 'Ogryn!' hollered by the troops. Ogryns…as if normal zombies weren't difficult enough to deal with. The giant brutes were hard enough to kill when they were still living and damn near impossible when they weren't. Its decaying flesh (along with the remnants of the flak armour it wore) absorbed several volleys of las fire without hindrance and even direct hits to the head did nothing to fell the monstrosity. Three meters of nightmare-born flesh came crashing upon our line, scattering troops to the ground and seizing one in its giant mitts. The arbite's screams were short lived as the ogryn chomped down on his head as if it were biting off the end of a ration bar.

"Former comrade of yours?" I remarked to a nearby Kriegan as the ogryn wore the standard ogryn-sized flak armour and bandoleers.

"Yeah, they were attached to first company," the Kriegan replied. "Guess that means their sector got overrun."

"Spike!" I shouted out. "Get everybody moving; I'll keep this thing busy."

"Should I skip with the obligatory 'you're insane' remarks?" Spike replied, remaining unflappable as always.

"Just go," I said as I charged the ogryn with sword in hand. In retrospect I probably was being extremely foolish but we couldn't have a zombie that could tear through plasteel doors chasing after us. I figured the easiest way to get its attention was to make myself the biggest nuisance so I jumped onto the thing's back and plunged my sword into its upper back. It snarled and thrashed about trying to shake me free but I kept a firm grip on its bandoleer. "Time for a little brain surgery," I quipped as I thrust the blade through the back of its skull. Apparently, when Spike joked that an ogryn's brain was the size of a frag grenade; they weren't exaggerating. Alas, it was a fact that would have served me greatly had I known before attempting to skewer the elusive organ beneath several inches of flesh and bone. The ogryn slowed momentarily, which were the three seconds where I thought I had actually succeeded in my crazy plan, before suddenly reaching over its shoulders and grabbing hold of me. This time I managed to keep a hold of my sword but the ogryn wasn't phased by my sword tearing an even larger hole as we were hoisted out in front of the beast, upside-down no less. "Well this is undignified," I grumbled as I wormed my free hand loose from the ogryn's grip.

I had to act quickly before I wound up like the arbiter. Being a quick learner, I decided not to gamble on attempting to hit its brain so instead my aimed my laspistol for its mouth and started firing. I figured that it would need a mouth to eat me so I simply kept firing until most of its face had been reduced to a pulpy mess of bone and broken teeth. And yet it still kept going. If it had any semblance of emotions, I imagined it would have been pissed that I blew apart its face and jaw but it didn't even seem to realize that it had nothing to bite with. It's attempts to jam me into what was left of its gullet were met with stiff resistance as I jabbed and twisted to keep my head from being shoved into its gaping orifice. After the ogryn failed attempts to swallow me whole, I realized that I needed a new plan. I quickly noticed that there was a perfectly intact frag grenade still hanging from the bandoleer. I had to juggle with my weapons for a bit but I eventually managed to snatch the grenade from the ogryn. Taking another page from the 'insane, spur of the moment' playbook, I shoved the grenade as far down the ogryn's gullet as I could (using my bionic arm of course) and then pulled the pin. Unfortunately, I hadn't thought far enough ahead to consider what I would do now that there was an armed hand grenade in the throat of the ogryn who was still holding onto me. There was only five seconds to make a decision so I did the only thing I could do – I broke the record for fastest, most desperate plea to the Emperor for protection, covered my face with my arms and jack-knifed myself into a vertical position putting myself as far from the blast as possible. Few people get to witness the mosaic of the crimson flourish that results from an ogryn's exploding from the inside out. Like the birth of your first child or the first time you see a star supernova, it is something that you carry with you for the rest of your life. And if you thought they smelled bad on the outside, it was nothing compared to the new fragrance I now sported, which would've been strong enough to make even Jurgen take a step back.

"Now there is a smell that will haunt me until the day I die," I groaned as I peeled myself off the floor. I scrapped some of the excess bloody pulp off my coat and shirt, including picking a few chunky pieces out of my hair. I also did a quick spot check to make sure no flying bits of bone broke skin but with all the stains across my chest and arms, it was impossible to tell. Unfortunately, in reality, near-deaths rarely give you time to pause and reflect on how close the skid marks were to your head. I was still smack in the middle of a space port with thousands upon thousands of zombies trying to break through any of a half-dozen doors as well as breaking the cardinal rule of any zombie apocalypse – never split up.

After loading a new power cell into my laspistol, I raced out the doorway in hopes of catching up to the rest of the party. It wasn't too difficult to figure out where they had gone as the doorway led into a maintenance corridor that ran back out to the tarmac. Once outside, it was a simple matter of following the bodies and the distant sounds of gunfire. However, the hundred or so zombies out on the tarmac had other plans for me. Alas, my new perfume did little to dissuade their advances. I once again readied my sword and laspistol and ran headlong into the fray. I never thought I would see the day where I would actually consider fighting to be 'boring' but cutting down zombies was about as challenging as cutting grass. After dedicating a large portion of my day to dispatching the deceased, it was starting to become monotonous. Thankfully whenever my arm got tired from swinging I would switch to my bionic arm and was good for a few dozen more. I kept moving and slicing but it was becoming more and more difficult to figure out where the others were heading. That concern magnified when I realized, coincidentally when the horde was thickest, that I couldn't hear any gunfire nor follow the telltale trail of bodies. I was, for the lack of a better term, lost and lost in the worst place of all – in a sea of the voracious undead. Even with all the rage of an Astartes kicked in the crotch I doubt I could have cut my way to safety.

Just then I felt a pair of hands seize me from behind, pull me with surprising strength and speed through a doorway that I hadn't even realized I had been standing in front of. The speed had taken me by surprise and I promptly let out a shriek as I spun about and swung my blade. I would have connected with soft tissue had a hand not intercepted my own before I completed my swing.

"Easy there boss," Spike said reassuringly as he loosened his grip on my wrist.

"Sweet Emperor, it's just you," I replied with a sigh of relief. As it turned out, Spike and the others had taken refuge in a small side building, a storage shed or something of the sort, that I had luckily stopped in front of. "Next time, warn me before you do that," I said as I sheathed my blade and took account of my new surroundings. The building was small and dark with the only sources of illumination being a few chem-lights a Kriegan had cracked and my small, hand-held luminator orb. As far as I could tell, the only way in or out of the building was the door that Spike was now leaning against to keep our adoring fans at bay. On the far side of the building, Devi and Balasz were once again having another verbal sparring match. And that brings us back to how this entry all started – huddled in a building with little ammo, morale, or patience. The soldiers looked to me for answers that I wasn't certain that I had.

"Please tell me that you at least got into contact with the ship while you were in the spire," Balasz said from his spot in the far corner, still spinning the chamber on his stub revolver.

"Celeste is on her way with reinforcements," I answered. Alas, it provided little comfort. "She should be here in about thirty minutes or so…if we're still alive by then."

"Lovely," Balasz said sarcastically. "In hindsight, perhaps dying at the shrine wouldn't have been such a bad choice after all; at least then I get to see the sky one last time before I shuffle off this mortal coil."

"Well you're welcome to step outside and enjoy the starry sky with the zombies" Spike suggested but didn't move away from the door. "Otherwise, would you kindly shut the frak up?"

"Why don't you come over here and make me?" Balasz challenged.

"How about I shut you up instead?" one of the Kriegans stepped up.

Balasz was quick to react to the new threat, whipping out a concealed knife and pointing it towards the soldier. "You're welcome to try clone-boy."

Given that Kriegans are never the kind to back down from a challenge, the situation rapidly degenerated into shouting matches as more Kriegans stepped up to support their fellow soldier. I was tempted to walk over and begin thumping the idiots but I was focusing what little energy I had left on more important matters. "Would you all just shut up for a minute?" I shouted at the top of my lungs. Inquisitors were one of the few things in the galaxy that could use words to so effectively silence a crowd, with the exception of perhaps a sonic cannon. "If you could all please refrain from further bickering, I am trying to think of a way to keep all our arses alive."

"My children please," Father Magnusson spoke up as he walked into the midst of our bickering ranks. "So long as our lungs draw breath, we still have duty to adhere to; for a man who has forgotten duty is no longer human and becomes less than a beast. They have no place in the bosom of humanity nor in the heart of the Emperor. The darkness of despair may fog our path but it is those who look upwards to Him shall find the guidance they seek." Even after all these years, I still have no idea what in the galaxy possessed me to cast my eyes upwards. My gaze fixed on something rectangular in the ceiling which, upon aiming my laminator orb upon it, revealed to be an access hatch to the roof.

"Son of a bitch," I muttered. There wasn't a ladder to it but fortunately there were plenty of boxes, barrels, and crates lying. While Spike redoubled his efforts to keep out the uninvited guests, the rest of us stacked as many boxes and barrels as we could into a pile under the hatch. Once we had a sizable pile, Father Magnusson, being the tallest of us, climbed to the top and popped the hatch open, revealing the starry night sky above. We quickly climbed onto the roof, one at a time, until it was just me lifting Verity up to Balasz and Spike still keeping the door shut. "Come on Spike," I said as I motioned for him to join us.

"Go on ahead boss, I'll be right behind you," he insisted. As always, reason was on his side as he was the only thing keeping the door shut. Being vertically challenged, I needed some help from a couple of the Kriegans above to get onto the rooftop.

"Get a move on Spike!" I shouted down once I was safely on the rooftop.

"Just a second," he said as he got ready to make his run. As expected, the second he tore away from the door, it burst open as the undead poured in. Reckless as always, Spike hopped his way up the pile but then proceeded to kick off several of the boxes and barrels. He shortened the pile until one was no longer able to reach the hatch by merely standing atop of them, successfully preventing any zombies from following us up. However, that always made it tougher for him to reach the hatch but as he leapt up, I reached down and grabbed onto his arms. With the help of a few Kriegans, we were able to hoist Spike onto the roof before the zombies could grab hold of him.

"So…now we just wait up here until the rescue ship arrives?" one of the Kriegans asked.

"Yup," I said as I sat down for a short rest. "Have a few keep a watch for anything big and ugly; otherwise, rest up."

Our refuge provided an unpleasant view of the surrounding tarmac. There were still masses of zombies surrounding our small building, which left an unsettling feeling in the pit of my gut that made resting a difficult prospect. Having slept through artillery barrages, I thought that a horde of shuffling, moaning undead would be of no consequence. However, the shuffling only served to remind me that I was still in dangerous waters and that heightened sense of vigilance made rest impossible for me.

Things were fairly uneventful for several minutes until one of the Kriegans exclaimed, "Throne of Terra, is that what I think it is?" At first I thought he had spotted our ride off that dirtball but rather than pointing skyward, the Kriegan directed our attention to something in the midst of the zombie horde. It took me a few moments for figure out what he was pointing towards but eventually I saw it – a zombie, shuffling like all the others but was dressed in Kriegan garbs and sporting the bars of a Sergeant-Major. Since there were only a few non-coms of that ranking within any given regiment, it didn't take an Inquisitor to guess who it used to be.

"Sweet Emperor…they killed Gustav," another Kriegan said wearily. In our hearts, we knew that Gustav had died when I had parted ways with him but a man of his nature earned a reputation for being tough as nails so it was discouraging nonetheless to have our fears confirmed; moreover, to see a man of his stature being reduced to a husk of his former self added salt to the wound.

"Those bastards," the first Kriegan growled.

"Hand me your lasgun," I said to the nearest soldier. The others clued in pretty quickly as to the purpose of my request and not a word was said as the weapon was handed over. It was a long-range shot but it was nothing my steady hands and determined mind couldn't hit. I went onto my knees, settling the barrel of the rifle on the waist-high parapet, and took a calming breath as I placed the Sergeant-Major within my sights.

"Um, Father Magnusson…perhaps a few words would be appropriate?" Sister Devi spoke up. I would have preferred to have just taken my shot and go the task over with but now that Devi had put the idea into the priest's head he decided to act upon it.

"Even a man who has nothing can still give his life to the Emperor," Magnusson began with what I hoped to be a relatively brief eulogy. "And truly, there is no honour greater and no man better embodied the virtues of the faithful soldier better than Sergeant-Major Anton Gustav. So we pray to thee O' Immortal Emperor, guide the soul of Anton Gustav so that he may live on in the hereafter. Protect him so that we may one day join him at your side. In the name of the Immortal Emperor, our Father and Guardian. Amen."

"Amen," repeated the rest of us. With that I pulled the trigger and put the Sergeant-Major to rest.

* * *

It was one of the longest hours I had to endure but despite our weariness, there was absolute elation through our ranks when we heard Celeste's voice crackled over the vox network. Though we could not see her ship, I knew the cavalry was close by if she could get a signal to even our short-ranged comm-beads. "This is Zweihander to Inquisitor Abel, do you copy?"

It was a weak signal but there was no mistaking her voice. Though daring and reckless (but what pilot isn't?), Celeste Engelhart was always a welcomed sight – mostly because she was coming to bail our arse out of trouble. I cannot recall how often her timely arrival had changed the tides to our favour or the number of times we were extracted in the nick of time thanks to her borderline-insane piloting skills and her disregard for those troublesome burdens known as 'safety protocols.' "This is Abel, I read you. What's your ETA?"

"I should be visible in just a minute," Celeste replied. "Just mark your position and I'll take care of the rest."

"Roger that," I said and motioned for Spike to drop a smoke flare. Within seconds a bright plume of red smoke rose into the sky, signaling our position to the ship just coming into view.

"By the Emperor, is that a Thunderhawk?" asked one of the Kriegans when he recognized the silhouette.

"Confiscated from a renegade sect of the Adeptus Mechanicus," I commented with a hint of pride. The Zweihander was definitely an envy-inducing piece of technology and one that made our tech-priests pop a sparkplug when it was placed under their care. It was almost unheard of for a thunderhawk to be employed outside of the Adeptus Astartes and the Adeptus Mechanicus kicked up a stink when they found out I had confiscated it from a rogue sect. They had demanded its return but I couldn't part with such a versatile space craft. I likely lost a few fans in the Adeptus Mechanicus but they were always bitter when outsiders held onto prized technology; if they had it their way, the rest of the Imperium would be relegated to sticks and stones while they held onto all the technology. We watched as the vessel soared high above and began looping back for a second approach.

"Keep your heads down, I'm coming in hot," Celeste warned as the Zweihander lined up for its run.

"She wouldn't…" Balasz groaned.

"She is," I sighed.

The other Kriegans took note when they noticed me and the rest of my ground ducking beneath the parapet and quickly followed suit. Thunderhawks weren't just good for transportation but were excellent gunships as Celeste demonstrated. The Zweihander began her strafing run with a salvo of rockets, which blasted huge holes into the undead ranks. As the shipped flew past us, its heavy bolter turrets rained further desolation until the surrounding tarmac was little more than a cratered mess carpeted in fleshy chunks. With almost ninety-five percent of the zombies converted into fertilizer, the Zweihander drifted over to the nearest landing pad and touched down.

"There's our ride, let's not keep them waiting," I said as I motioned for the others to mobilize. Celeste's strafing run obviously didn't destroy every zombie in our way but what few remained were easily taken care of with what little ammunition we had remaining. We were half-way to the landing pad when there was a sudden flash ahead of us accompanied by a violent crackle of warp energy – our Plague sorcerer had emerged once more from the warp and was now barring our path.

"Leaving?" the sorcerer remarked venomously. "How rude."

I was just about fed up with this sorcerer and the whole damn planet. It seemed like every time I was about to get Verity to safety, this sorcerer reared his ugly head or summoned another pack of zombies. He was like a goddamn nightmare and it was time to put him to rest once and for all. "Spike, take the others and flank around to the side while I keep ugly here busy," I ordered as I took a few more steps towards the sorcerer. "Except for you Balasz – you stay with me."

"Of course; because why should you get to face certain death without me?" Balasz grumbled as he walked to my side.

"What are you doing? This is suicide," Sister Devi protested, likely from concern for me rather than my begrudging comrade.

"O' ye of little faith," I said with a reassuring smirk. "Now there's no time to argue. Go!"

For whatever reason, perhaps because I was the apparent leader of the cabal, the sorcerer entirely ignored the others as they circled wide past him; instead, he remain fixated on me. Thick clouds of warp-spawn flies buzzed around him, each one carrying enough of Nurgle's plagues to turn me into a puddle of puss.

"Let me show you what true power is and release from your slavery to the false Emperor," the sorcerer mused arrogantly. However, that was precisely what I was counting on and as he stepped towards Balasz and I, the swarming flies suddenly seemed to pull away from him and he stopped dead in his tracks. "You-! What in the…how is this possible?" the sorcerer growled, recoiling back in disgust. Suddenly the tables had turned and now I was the one smirking confidently. Though the powers of the Warp were formidable and completely pants-staining terrifying but the Ruinous Powers were no match for one who walked in the Emperor's light…and was accompanied by a psychic blank. Not only was Balasz Mulder a blaspheming bastard but he was the thing that scared psykers shitless.

As the sorcerer pulled away, Balasz and I stepped closer. "What's wrong? Scared? Don't you want to stay and play anymore?" I taunted as we kept close enough to keep the sorcerer uncomfortable.

Now the degree to which a blank affected a psyker was proportional to how powerful the psyker was. It was the reason why daemons recoiled in horror while a low-level astropath would just find a convenient excuse to leave the room. Our Chaos sorcerer was visibly disgusted by Balasz's proximity but the natural endurance of a former space marine meant that he could weather the discomfort and still wring us dry. Hence it came as no surprise when the sorcerer simply decided to take us down with his plagued blade instead. His target was, of course, Balasz but that just gave me the advantage as I knew where my opponent would be focused; that allowed me to intercept his first broad swing, pushing it up and over our heads before slashing across his gut. Decayed ceramite offered only modest resistance to my phase sword and once my slash carried me past him, I spun about quickly and plunged my sword through the opening I made. Centuries of honing psychic powers instead of swordsmanship was visibly evident as the sorcerer attempted to bring the sword down on me, only to hit tarmac as I ducked to his backside and hacked several times at his power armour's back unit. I doubt none of the life support systems had any purpose but disabling the stabilizers would impede his mobility. He swung about in rage but I easily ducked under the giant's blade, although he almost hit Balasz (who was trying to keep a safe distance from the two us). For the most part, Balasz kept behind me but thankfully Balasz was adept in the art of 'getting out of harm's way' so he was able to avoid the swings that sailed past me. All I had to do was keep the ugly giant's attention on me. As I weaved past his clumsy attacks and continued making light, but numerous, hits, the sorcerer's rage grew and his attacks became more reckless. What semblance of Astartes' discipline once existed had vanished along with his loyalty.

Unfortunately, it was difficult to fight an opponent and keep Balasz out of harm's way at the same time and I inevitably made a mistake. When the sorcerer swung the blade down, I dodged to my right…but Balasz went to my left. That unfortunately put an angry, ugly giant between me and my partner and said giant knew that as well. I had no choice but to make a desperate gambit – lunging quickly and stabbing the sorcerer through the hand to knock the blade loose. In doing so, I kept Balasz alive but I had over-extended myself and was standing with outstretched arms in front of my enemy. A bloated hand the size of my head lashed around my neck, almost crushing my windpipe altogether as he hoisted me into the air.

"I…will…rip you…limb from limb!" he snarled into my face. For a brief moment I was thankful that his vice grip was at least keeping me from catching a whiff of his breath. I instinctively reached for my sidearm only to be reminded by the empty space that I had loaned it out.

I was dangerously close to blacking out for the last time when I saw a flash out of the corner of my eye. "Hands off my mom!" echoed Verity's voice, accompanied by plasma bolt that slammed dead-center of the sorcerer's chest. The super-heated energy melted through his flesh and armour and a follow-up bolt hit the same spot, knocking him back a step. After the third shot, I slipped free from the sorcerer's grip.

"Kill that bastard!" Spike shouted, standing alongside the Kriegan soldiers. A barrage of las and plasma bolts pelted the sorcerer. The holes burnt through the armour by the plasma bolts allowed the lasguns to gouge deep into the traitor marine's flesh and by the time their guns ran dry, there was a massive, charred crater where the sorcerer's chest used to be. Yet, even after all that punishment, the monstrosity did not fall but that was when Magnusson raced up to the Chaos marine and demonstrated why it was known as an eviscerator. The massive chainsword plunged into the crater in his chest, tearing apart flesh, bone, and metal as though they were nothing. Magnusson tore opened the sorcerer from notch to crotch and spilling out the most grotesque pile of mulched viscera as though somehow had squeezed out the contents of a blood sausage. Everybody took a few steps back as the hollowed shell teetered for a second before falling onto its own pile of guts, splattering them across the tarmac and ruining everybody's boots.

"Well that's never coming out," Balasz grumbled as he looked down at his ruined shoes.

Still cradling a smoking plasma pistol, Verity trotted over me and gazed up at me with hopeful eyes pleading for a sign of approval. "You did good, dear," I said as I patted her on the head.

"Can we go home now?" she whined.

* * *

I spent close to an hour in the decontamination chambers before the medicae staff felt comfortable enough letting us back into the main parts of the ship. Most of that time was spent in the showers making sure that every flechette of that ogryn had been washed away. Needless to say, the expedition had left me stiff, sore, and drained both physically and mentally. The hot water was a much needed relief. As I stood beneath the pouring water, I mentally took stock of the motley cabal of survivors I had brought home with me – a priest of questionable mental stability, a sister with the usual holier-than-thou attitude, five soldiers from the Death Korps of Krieg, and one PDF trooper that was still flinching at the slightest noise. For a moment, I wondered if they had been worth the Aquila lander that I had left behind. At the time, I felt as though I had gotten the short-end of the stick in the trade-off but I reminded myself that stopping the plague's spread was more important than a single landing craft. And in time, what I had gained that day would more than compensate for what I had lost. For a few minutes, or at least that's how long it felt, I held my hand up to the showerhead and watched as the droplets pelted my bionic limb; I watched them as they splashed against cold plasteel and then traced down the dulled, worn metal contours of my forearm. Often had I wondered if my life would have been better were I as unfeeling as my artificial limb; able to allow death and suffering to wash aside like the dried blood upon my metal digits. How often had I risked life and limb out of pure sentiment rather the reason and logic that should have been guiding my hand. At moments such as those, I almost wished I could disappear once more beneath the immense shadow of my former mentor, where I had a fair and level-headed man to answer to. With Commissar Cain, I was accountable to a man whose standards I was familiar with. Instead I was accountable to only the highest authority – a prospect that was both liberating and terrifying.

My train of thought was derailed when somebody knocked on the outside of the shower stall. "You still in there boss?" It was Spike, whose presence brought a sense of relief. He was the only person on the ship who I was comfortable enough with to talk to about anything at any time, including when stark naked with only an inch-thick plastic divider between us.

"Yeah, I'm here," I acknowledged half-heartedly. "I take it you've spoken with Argentus? What's the damage report?"

"Total, ma'am."

"Well I expect the space port to be gone after an orbital barrage but I meant the whole planet."

"So did I," Spike said solemnly. He took my lack of a response as a call to elaborate. "The tech-priests were able to tap into the planet's satellite network and turned the auspex arrays planet-side. The plague has spread everywhere ma'am…every city and village shows little to no sign of human life. There are a few pockets of resistance from PDF or Guard reminents but they're all far-flung, isolated, and completely surrounded."

"What's the planet's population again?" I asked after a quiet sigh.

"Roughly four billion. Verity estimates about 95% of the population has turned. Shall we try to launch rescue operations for surviving units?"

At first I said nothing, simply continuing to stare at my lifeless limb as water trickled down it. As cruel as it sounded, Balasz's original remarks about the planet were true – it really was a worthless little shitball. Cocytus was a tiny planet inhabiting a small pocket of stable space but ultimately held no strategic or economic value. The resources required for a purge would be astronomical. Reason left only one option even if it was unpleasant to stomach. "No," I said quietly. "Put out an order to the nearest battlefleet to quarantine the planet…and then order an exterminatus – viral bombing followed by cyclonic torpedoes."

"Isn't that a bit…extreme, Ariel?" Spike asked.

"We can't afford to let anything of that plague get off the planet," I explained. However, it felt as though I was trying to convince myself more than I was trying to convince him. "The planet's lost…there's nothing left worth fighting for."

"I understand," he said reluctantly.

"How are our guests by the way?"

"Tired…but relieved. And grateful of course."

"Excellent. When you have the chance, ask if the Kriegans would like to try a new career path." It wasn't uncommon for Inquisitors to bolster their ranks with the people they pick up during expeditions and investigations. A quality soldier that I could trust wasn't exactly the easiest to come across and while I had the authority, I rarely conscripted troops from active regiments unless they displayed exemplary skill. Few things pissed off commanders more than taking away their best troopers. Plus world-consuming catastrophes had a way of leaving only the most capable and competent troopers behind so there was no question about the skills of the Kriegans we had picked up. In the end, all of them agreed to join up with our crew, while the lone surviving PDF soldier was dropped off at the next Imperial world we passed by.

"One other thing," Spike said after a prolonged silence in which I thought he had left in, "I offered Sister Devi a position as well."

"Really?" I asked rhetorically. "She's a bit on the 'preachy and abrasive' side but…I guess our medicae facilities are a bit…um…"

"Medieval?"

"I was going to say 'understaffed' but you've made your point," I said with a quiet chuckle.

"I'm afraid there's a bit of a catch to it that you might not like…" he continued reluctantly.

"What is it?" I groaned at his ominous remark.

"Sister Devi will only join us if we allow Father Magnusson to remain on board as well. Apparently she refuses to go anywhere without him."

"Agh…Emperor on Terra, what did I do to deserve this?" I groaned once again. As unsettling and downright disturbing as the priest was, he was a nuisance that I could tolerate if it meant having a trained medicae professional on staff. However, I also got the suspicion that Spike would've recommended he stayed even if it hadn't been a condition of Devi's employment. Emperor knows he and many others had been pining for a new priest for months now. At the very least, I knew that Father Magnusson was able to swing an eviscerator around with frightening proficiency so that made him preferable to most priests of the Ministorum. "Okay, the two of them can stay," I said after a while (even though I had made my decision rather quickly).

"I'll let the quartermaster know to assign them some rooms," Spike said. "Anything else before I go boss?" At first I said 'no' and dismissed him but after a few moments I had a sudden urge to speak with him again and I had to stick my head out of the shower stall just to get my voice far enough down the corridor for him to hear. "You bellowed?" he mused when he finally trotted all the way back.

"Do you think it was a good idea to…bring Verity here?" I asked reluctantly, wringing the shower curtain with one hand all the while. Being an Inquisitor, I was always expected to have my act together, all the answers, all my eggs in many baskets, and all my dinner plates sparkling clean; seldom did I have the luxury to voice self-doubt or personal concerns. In my defense, most Inquisitors didn't deal with the burden of parenthood as I foolish thought I could handle alongside my other duties. "I mean…this is barely a place for most grown men, let alone a child."

"Verity is here because she wanted to be here," Spike reassured me. "If we left her in some schola, she'd be bored out of her skull. Plus, I don't think there's any place where she'd feel like she belonged, save for this ship."

"I guess that's right…and Emperor knows what would happen if some other Inquisitor found out about her gifts; or worse yet, the Adeptus Mechanicus. I guess I'm just…having trouble knowing when to be her mother and when to be the Inquisitor. I mean…she's still young; I want her have something that resembles a normal childhood."

Spike just let out a quiet laugh, which proved highly contagious as I found myself laughing a few seconds later. "Ariel, that girl was grown in a vat using machines that date back to the Dark Age of Technology. Her body has been enhanced with bionics that even she doesn't know the full potential of and her brain has been fused with the machine spirit of a twenty-thousand-year-old cogitator…what the frak about her do you think is even remotely normal?"

"Well when you put it that way…" I replied once I had my laughter under control. "This whole motherhood thing is a lot tougher than I thought."

"It's not as though you went down to that planet expecting to come back with a kid," Spike joked once again. "At the very least, Verity has a parent to look after her, which is more than what can be said for a lot of people in galaxy, including you and I."

"And she has you."

"Well…yes, but I didn't really want to toot my own horn," Spike said modestly.

"You're probably doing a better job at parenting than I am," I insisted. "But no more scary holo-vids for her, okay? She'll have enough on her plate without you adding to it."

"Killjoy."

"I'm a mother, that's part of the job."

"Was there anything else you needed?"

"Nope, that's all the rambling from me for today," I said with a renewed sense of self-worth. "I better get finished in here so I can send a report to the Lord Inquisitor. I have an unsettling feeling that this whole zombie business isn't going to be a one-time thing." It was a suspicion that would eventually prove true as zombie plagues were used frequently in the prelude to the 13th Black Crusade many years later. While I would eventually be grateful for not having to deal with any further zombie outbreaks, they would have been a welcomed relief in comparison to the disasters I had to deal with during those years…at least zombies don't try to eat your soul.

"Oh by the way," Spike spoke up just as he had turned to leave. "Father Magnusson is going to be holding a little sermon in the mess hall in about thirty minutes."

"You're point?" I asked rhetorically since the look on his face conveyed his purpose quite clearly. He didn't say anything in response, most likely because words would give me something to argue against. "I just said I had a report to write," I insisted but still got no response other than a penetrating gaze rarely seen outside the halls of a schola – a disapproving glare that rivaled those of old mothers. Despite the fact that I was an Inquisitor, accountable to only the highest authority, nothing in all my training and arsenal could defend against disappointing my closest and oldest friend. "But I…I need to…I, uh…" I eventually let out a defeated sigh. "You said the mess hall in thirty, right?"

End

Note from the Author:

Well this took a lot longer to finish than it should have. Clearly my muse and motivation are in need of a recharge so I'll be taking a short hiatus (not that you'll likely notice given my update schedule lately…) to peruse Cain's latest adventure. Hopefully within a month I'll return to a more regular schedule with Hounds of Erebus


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